AN  INDIANA  MAN 


PRDrERTY  OF 

Af.PKA  EPSlLOrC 

lilv*?/  )l?7 

?.'-EAcE  RIPLACL  Uy,  RACK 
By  LeRoy  Armstrong 


OF  THE  CHICAGO  HERALD 


CHICAGO 

1890 


COPYRIGHT 


By  Le  Roy  Armstrong. 


OONTONTS 


Chapter,  Page, 

1.  His  First  Estate 7 

2.  The  Spelling-School 13 

3.  Beginning  the  Canvass 25 

4.  First  Lessons  in  Government 30 

5.  Hostilities  Declared 36 

6.  Haberly  and  Esther 42 

7.  The  Gang  Defied 49 

8.  Ellet’s  First  Humiliation 57 

9.  The  County  Convention 67 

10.  A Popular  Candidate 79 

11.  A Sunday  at  the  Farm 89 

12.  The  Rally 96 

13.  Sautern  Defendant 103 

14.  Poole  Wakes  to  Manhood _iio 

15.  Who  Edits  the  Newspaper? 122 

16.  Election.. 137 

17.  A Patriot’s  Gospel. 143 

18.  A Night  with  the  Boys 157 

19.  Beyond  All  Pardon 165 

20.  After  That— the  Deluge 171 

21.  In  Cider-Making  Time 184 

22.  They  Met  in  an  Upper  Room 188 

23.  Too  Base  for  Insult 198 

24.  The  Wreck 209 

25.  Quite  Through  the  Valley — 216 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HIS  FIRST  ESTATE. 

The  preacher  had  lifted  his  hands  in  benedic- 
tion over  his  people,  and  in  the  pauses  between 
his  solemn  sentences  they  heard  the  rain  driven 
fiercely  against  the  window  panes.  There  was  a 
furtive  looking  about  for  overshoes,  a quiet  gath- 
ering up  of  umbrellas;  and  on  the  untamed  bor- 
ders of  ceremony  near  the  door,  some  men  and 
women  were  putting  on  their  gossamers. 

Ellet  Grant,  up  there  in  the  choir’s  corner,  near 
the  pulpit,  lifted  his  head  from  the  moment’s 
devotion,  and  caught  the  bright  eyes  of  John 
Haberly  fixed  upon  him.  There  was  something 
more  than  friendship  between  these  two  men,  and 
yet  they  could  by  no  means  be  called  intimate. 
There  was  a phase  of  nature  in  each  one  which 
caught  its  like  reflected  from  the  other;  and  they 
said  less  when  they  met,  yet  seemed  to  under- 


1 


8 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Stand  each  other  better,  and  enjoy  more  each 
transient  meeting. 

“ Come  to  dinner  with  me,”  said  Haberly,  as 
the  two  shook  hands  at  his  pew  door.  “It  is 
raining  too  hard  for  you  to  ride  home.” 

They  hurried  through  the  gusty  street,  turned 
at  the  corner  and  met  the  rain-laden  wind,  picked 
their  difficult  way  over  the  crossing,  and  entered 
Haberly’s  gate.  It  was  one  of  the  handsome 
houses  in  Fairview,  and  its  owner  somehow  con- 
trived, even  here  in  midwinter,  and  in  a mid- 
winter rain  storm,  to  keep  it  presentable. 

“ Do  you  know  what  I was  thinking  to-day,  as 
I watched  you  back  there  in  the  church,  Ellet.?” 
said  Haberly,  as  they  sat  by  his  wood  fire  after 
dinner. 

“ Thinking  how  beautifully  I was  listening  to 
the  sermon,  I suppose.” 

Haberly’s  red  lips  parted  and  his  white  teeth 
showed  in  appreciation  of  what  he  took  for  humor. 

“ I was  thinking  of  something  I have  heard 
forty  times  since  the  last  election.  You  ought  to 
run  for  sheriff.” 

(<1?” 

“Yes,  you.  There  are  a good  many  reasons. 
Hall  has  had  two  terms,  and  cannot  serve  any 
longer.  The  office  ought  to  go  to  the  country 
next  time.  It  has  been  given  to  a town  man  fo' 


HIS  FIRST  ESTATE. 


9 


the  past  ten  years.  Frank  Logan  talks  of  run- 
ning on  the  Democratic  side,  and  Jim  Cowan 
wants  to  run  against  him.  But  it  will  take  a 
stronger  man  than  Cowan  to  beat  Frank.  You 
have  a good  many  relatives  in  different  parts  of 
the  county,  and  they  are  all  good  men.  You  are 
well  known,  are  believed  to  be  wealthy,  a moral 
man,  and  a very  successful  farmer.  The  people 
think — ” 

“Don’t,  Haberly,”  protested  Ellet.  “If  I am 
all  that,  I had  better  stay  out  of  politics.  If  I am 
less  than  that,  I don’t  deserve  an  office.” 

“Well,  this  is  in  earnest.  You  can  have  it  if 
you  want  it.  It  is  a good  thing.  You  think 
about  it  for  a week  or  two,  and  we’ll  talk 
again.” 

Then  he  allowed  the  conversation  to  drift  in 
other  lines,  and,  when  the  rain  had  ceased,  Ellet 
Grant  found  his  horse  in  the  stalls  up  there  behind 
the  meeting-house,  mounted,  and  rode  home. 

He  did  not  think  Haberly  had  made  any  im- 
pression upon  him.  Office  seeking  was  not  in  his 
line.  It  had  never  been  indulged  in  by  any  of  his 
family.  He  knew  he  would  rather  go  on  as  he 
had  been — happy  at  home,  making  money  com- 
fortably, and  never  catching  sight  of  an  enemy — 
than  to  have  all  the  political  preferment  even 
Haberly  might  name. 


10 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ There’s  nothing  in  it,”  he  said,  as  he  swung 
from  the  saddle,  and  led  his  horse  through  the  big 
farm  gate. 

Jim  was  busy  with  the  feeding,  and  Ellet  helped 
him,  as  he  always  did.  When  they  had  finished, 
the  man  went  away  across  the  fields  to  his  hum- 
bler home,  and  Ellet  took  up  the  lantern  to  go  to 
the  house.  He  was  elated  in  a way  different  from 
any  he  had  ever  known.  This  was  a fine  humor 
to  be  in.  He  enjoyed  it.  He  stopped  in  front  of 
the  bays,  put  his  hand  across  the  manger,  crowded 
full  of  fragrant  hay,  and  stroked  the  smooth  faces 
of  his  team.  He  put  down  the  lantern  again, 
shoved  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stared  at  the 
light,  wondering  how  it  would  seem  to  be  elected 
to  office — must  be  a charm  about  it,  surely.  Lots 
of  men  went  nearly  wild. 

His  sister  stood  on  the  back  porch,  and  called 
him  to  supper.  Father  was  reading  before  an 
open  fire.  He  never  ate  more  than  two  meals  on 
Sunday.  Mother  was  rocking  contentedly  near 
him,  her  small  figure  half  lost  in  the  spongy  depths 
of  a cushioned  chair. 

Esther  poured  the  tea,  and  asked  her  brother 
who  had  been  at  church,  and  what  they  had  worn. 
Alice  inquired  about  the  music  and  the  sermon; 
but  Ellet  was  very  unsatisfactory  in  all  his  report- 
ings. He  called  to  his-  father,  and  told  him. 


ms  FIRST  ESTATE. 


11 


laughing,  what  Haberly  had  said.  He  received 
no  response  beyond  one  of  pleased  interest,  and 
while  the  girls  were  clearing  away  the  dishes  he 
wandered  to  the  library,  and  found  himself  wish- 
ing there  was  a book  on  “ County  Politics,  and 
How  To  Master  It.”  He  tried  to  read  a little 
from  The  Churchman.,  but  found  Haberly,  and 
Hall,  and  Frank  Logan,  and  Cowan,  all  drifting 
in  between  the  lines. 

“ Come,  this  is  nonsense,”  he  said,  impatient 
that  the  vision  still  invited  him.  “Alice,  let  us 
have  some  music.” 

His  sisters  drew  the  folding  doors  between  them 
and  the  smaller  room,  where  father  and  mother 
were  sitting.  They  took  up  the  pieces  which  had 
come  last  from  town,  and  sang  them  together. 
He  went  over  to  the  piano,  studied  the  bass,  and 
added  a rich,  trained  voice  to  their  melody.  From 
the  later  they  passed  to  the  older  music,  sometimes 
with  the  sheet  before  them,  sometimes  remember- 
ing the  lines.  The  stately  harmony  of  hymns ; the 
deep,  impassioned  fervor  of  evangelical  praise;  the 
homely  words  that  had  hovered  about  belfries, 
and  echoed  through  chancels  with  two  centuries 
of  approval  upon  them — these  marked  the  close 
of  Sunday.  - Mother  pushed  open  the  doors  a little, 
and  returned  to  her  cushioned  chair.  Father  had 
dropped  his  book,  and  was  listening  to  his  chil- 


12 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


dren’s  voices,  his  whole  great  soul  bathed  in  thank- 
fulness for  countless  mercies. 

Midnight  came  upon  the  farm-house,  and  found 
it  hushed  in  sleep,  while  equi-distant  upon  either 
hand  stood  dual  spirits,  each  named  Happiness — 
one  folding  the  borders  of  the  day  just  gone,  one 
waiting  to  usher  in  to-morrow. 

Ellet  was  dreaming.  The  ichor  of  official  dei- 
ties was  working  in  his  veins. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  SPELLING-SCHOOL. 

Inside  the  school-house  a motley,  noisy  crowd 
was  busy  with  a score  of  themes.  Candles,  set 
on  little  brackets  by  the  windows,  gave  light  to 
the  room.  Around  the  stove  some  dozen  men, 
just  verging  on  majority,  were  chaffing  each 
other,  and  laughing  hoarsely  at  the  banter  of  a 
pretty  girl  who  sat  on  a plain  poplar  bench  in  a 
row  of  forms.  She  wore  real  furs,  and  seemed  a 
center  of  attraction.  They  called  her  Sadie,  and 
uncouth  fellows  from  across  the  stove  tossed  her 
stentorian  badinage,  which  she  repaid  with  some 
allusion  that  aroused  a laugh.  Ellet’s  entrance 
was  noted  and  remarked;  and  for  a time  the 
place  was  comparatively  quiet. 

He  pushed  forward  with  a sort  of  rudeness 
that  did  not  seem  to  give  offense,  and,  after  warm- 
ing, turned  and  found  a few  acquaintances  among 
the  men  who  were  seated.  Then  the  general  con- 
versation was  resumed,  a little  milder  than  before; 
for  any  stranger  brought  restraint.  Older  men 
filled  the  benches  on  the  left,  and  talked  with 


1? 


u 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


each  other  about  the  weather,  Dave  Edwards’ 
new  barn,  and  the  price  of  cattle. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  house  women  and 
girls  were  gathered.  Among  them  one  or  two 
men  appeared — brave  fellows,  gallants,  who  dared 
pursue  their  ladies  into  the  stronghold  of  the 
enemy.  Boys  came  in  and  went  out  noisily.  They 
were  playing  some  game  in  the  school-yard,  and 
yelled  incessantly. 

Presently  the  teacher  disengaged  himself  from 
a group  of  rather  animated  girls,  and  went  to  his 
desk.  As  he  busied  himself  with  some  perfunc- 
tory preparations,  the  hub-bub  subsided  a little. 
Several  men  about  the  stove  made  a movement 
to  secure  seats.  A few  took  off  their  hats.  Then 
the  teacher  tapped  upon  his  bell,  and  every  sound 
within  the  house  was  hushed.  The  boys  outside 
seemed  madder  than  before. 

“ Charley  Clay  and  Jane  Austin  will  choose 
up,”  announced  the  teacher;  and  two  persons 
began  bustling  around  with  suspicious  tokens  of 
surprise.  They  could  hardly  get  away  from  de- 
taining hands.  One  was  a slender  man  of  thirty- 
five,  dressed  a little  better  than  a farm  hand,  but 
not  so  well  as  the  teacher;  the  other  was  a rosy 
girl  of  eighteen,  formerly  a pupil,  and  still  the 
champion  speller  of  the  district.  They  came  to 
the  desk,  and  stood  facing  the  teacher,  the  girl 


THE  SPELLING  SCHOOL. 


15 


sober  and  womanly  now,  the  man  all  muffled  up 
in  dignity. 

“ The  one  choosing  nearest  the  page  I hold,” 
said  the  teacher,  “ gets  first  choice.” 

Jane  “chose”  240;  Charley  said  “Six  hundred,” 
with  great  gallantry,  knowing  there  could  not  be 
so  many  pages  in  the  book. 

“It’s  31 1,”  announced  the  teacher  in  a high- 
pitched  voice,  as  one  having  authority;  “Miss 
Austin’s  first  choice.”  And  he  laid  the  book  wide 
open  before  him,  whereat  four  or  five  of  those 
nearest  pushed  forward  and  scrutinized  the  page. 
He  might  have  been  cheating. 

“Bill  Adams,”  said  Jane,  and  a murmured  “Of 
course ! ” went  round  the  house.  Bill  was  a noted 
speller . 

“Alice  Corse,”  said  Charley,  and  the  people 
seemed  a little  surprised.  Either  Alice’s  rank  as 
a speller  was  not  known,  or  some  celebrated 
person  near  at  hand  had  been  overlooked.  The 
two  chosen  came  forward  and  took  seats  behind 
the  desk. 

“Ed  Ogden,”  said  Jane,  very  quickly,  and 
there  was  a ripple  of  assent,  as  if  the  girl  had 
scored  a point.  The  boys  outside  abandoned 
their  sport,  and  came  clattering  in,  snatching 
hats  from  uncombed  heads  as  they  neared  the 
door,  and  stamping  to  seats  with  an  av/ful  tread. 


16 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Charley  Clay  waited  a moment,  and  then  called 
“ Effie  Wheeler.” 

“Ella  Wheeler,”  said  Miss  Austin,  instantly, 
with  an  accent  on  the  baptismal  name.  Evi- 
dently here  was  a family  of  spellers. 

“Jed  Brooks.” 

“ Doc  Lough.” 

“ Ed  Hendrickson.” 

“Mrs.  Hamilton.” 

It  was  the  first  recognition  of  the  family  tie, 
and  a suppressed  titter  directed  attention  to  a ' 
buxom  young  woman  with  a white  bonnet,  who 
crowded  past  her  seatmates  and  went  forward  to 
her  place  at  Miss  Austin’s  side.  Mrs.  Hamilton 
was  evidently  a bride,  and  this  was  her  first  pub- 
lic appearance  in  that  newer  relation. 

So  the  choosing  went  on.  Each  person  took 
position  on  the  bench  which  ran  all  about  the 
school-room,  giving  place  to  nothing  but  the  door. 

A few  said  “ Wish  to  be  excused,”  in  an  unfa- 
miliar way ; and  these  were  always  passed.  At 
length  all  who  cared  to  spell  had  been  chosen, 
and  had  taken  their  places  in  one  of  the  long 
lines. 

The  teacher  had  all  this  time  stood  at  his  desk, 
with  one  elbow  resting  easily  upon  it,  and  one 
foot  crossed  upon  the  other,  in  an  attitude  of 
studied  grace.  He  held  a spelling-book,  and 


THE  SPELLING  SCHOOL. 


17 


thrummed  the  leaves.  Jane  and  Charley  found 
places  at  the  heads  of  their  respective  lines. 

“I  will  appoint  Seth  Reed  and  John  Rhinehart 
to  keep  tally,”  was  the  next  official  announce- 
ment; and  these  two,  non-combatants,  were  sup- 
plied with  slates  on  which  they  entered  double- 
entry accounts  by  drawing  a straight  line  from 
top  to  bottom,  and  writing  “Jane  ” on  one  side, 
and  “ Charley  ” on  the  other. 

Then  the  spelling  began.  The  teacher  pro- 
nounced a word  in  turn  to  those  on  either 
side,  and  every  time  a miss  was  scored  down  went 
a white  mark  against  Jane’s  or  Charley’s  account. 
After  proceeding  some  ten  minutes  the  teacher, 
turned  over  his  book  and  hand  lamp  to  a visiting 
pedagogue — a courtesy  always  extended. 

Twenty  minutes  of  spelling,  and  then  the 
teacher  resumed  his  sway  and  announced  an  in- 
termission. He  called  for  the  reports  of  the  tally- 
keepers,  and  when  one  said  Jane’s  side  had  missed 
more  words  than  had  Charley’s,  a little  clapping 
of  hands  in  the  camp  of  the  latter  proclaimed  the 
sweets  of  victory.  The  other  scorer  could  not 
rhake  his  figures  quite  agree  with  those  just  pub- 
lished. Great  interest  was  awakened  by  his  per- 
plexity. Poor  Jane  came  forward,  claiming  a 
suspension  of  judgment.  But  when  the  tardy 
accountant  said  his  slate  showed  she  had  lost  by 


18 


^iV  INDIANA  MAN. 


thirty-four  words  instead  of  thirty,  the  poor  girl 
retired  in  a whirlwind  of  confusion. 

As  soon  as  the  recess  was  taken  the  troop  of 
boys  broke  from  the  room  as  if  it  were  a prison. 
They  ran  and  leaped  and  yelled  about  the  house 
like  spirits  from  Bedlam.  Older  youths,  and  even 
adults,  joined  the  crowds  without.  They  formed 
a ring  by  joining  hands,  and  round  about  it  two 
figures  flitted,  while  all  the  others  sang: 


King  William  was  King  George’s  son, 
And  at  the  royal  race  he  run; 

Upon  his  breast  he  wore  a star 
Which  was  won  in  time  of  war. 


A girl  was  running  about  the  circle,  pursued 
by  a youth  who  carried  a handkerchief.  She  had 
dropped  it  behind  him  in  passing,  and  he  broke 
from  the  line  to  answer  her  challenge.  If  he 
shall  overtake  her  before  she  make  the  circuit 
and  reach  the  place  he  occupied,  a kiss  will 
reward  him — after  a struggle.  How  swiftly  he 
ran!  How  the  girl  sped!  How  Ellet,  look- 
ing on  fiom  a distance,  held  his  breath  and 
hoped  for  her — no,  for  him!  Now  she  is  safe. 
No,  he  caught  her;  but  she  was  nearly  home, 
and  claimed  a little  grace.  He  was  not  a rigid 
collector,  and  so  released  her  and  went  forward 
with  the  handkerchief,  while  half  the  gathered 
boys  taunted  him. 


I 


THE  SPELLING  SCHOOL. 


19 


“Cowardy  calf!”  they  cried,  in  great  derision. 
He  dropped  the  handkerchief  behind  his  pet 
divinity,  and  she  had  to  be  shown  how  favored 
she  was  among  women.  She  snatched  the  cam- 
bric with  great  haste,  but  there  her  hurry  ended. 
The  chase  was  a mild  one.  He  could  not  force 
her  to  catch  him,  and  so  stepped  into  the  circle, 
and  the  song  went  forward: 

Go,  look  to  the  east;  go,  look  to  the  west; 

Go,  look  to  the  one  that  you  love  best. 

If  he’s  not  here  to  take  your  part. 

Go,  choose  another  with  all  your  heart. 

Presently  the  school  bell  rang  again,  and  then 
the  tumbling  through  that  narrow  door  suggested 
Noah’s  famed  menagerie,  frightened  at  the  flood. 
So  far  as  possible  every  person  took  again  the 
seat  he  held  before  recess,  and  order  was  restored. 

Mary  Green,  with  great  solemnity,  recited  a 
comic  poem.  Billy  Etherby,  chubby  and  rollick- 
ing in  ten  years  of  health,  made  far  more  comic  a 
doleful  strain  about  the  stars.  Hetty  Webster 
read  a paper,  full  of  allusions  to  “ a certain  young 
man,”  or  “a  girl  from  Bruce’s  Lake;”  full  of 
queries  as  to  “ why  Bert  Osburn  wears  his  good 
clothes  all  the  time,”  each  of  which  was  listened 
to  with  gaping  interest,  and  laughed  at  immoder- 
ately in  the  pauses  wise  Hetty  made. 

Then  the  real  event  of  the  evening  came. 


20 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ Stand  up,  and  spell  down,”  commanded  the 
teacher;  and  all  the  chosen  found  their  feet  amid 
a din  of  shuffling. 

“ Balcony.” 

The  word  was  fired  at  Jane  Austin  with  a dis- 
tinctness that  defied  misunderstanding. 

“ Barony.” 

It  was  Charley  Clay’s  turn,  and  he  spelled  the 
word  with  elaborate  plainness.  It  was  a sort  of 
challenge  and  response. 

“ Fallacy.” 

Jane’s  second  spelled  and  missed.  “ F -a-l-l-a-s-y,” 
he  said,  then  covered  his  face  in  shame,  for  all  the 
crowded  house  held  its  breath  in  astonishment. 
He  sat  down,  and  the  word  was  passed  across  the 
room.  Charley  Clay  exulted  a little.  It  was  first 
blood  for  him.  Ten  minutes  saw  as  many  spellers 
go  down  before  some  stubborn  words,  and  on  the 
third  round  the  teacher  pronounced  “million.” 

“ M-i-l-l-i-o-n,”  spelled  a girl,  sweetly. 

“ Bilious,”  said  the  teacher  to  Ellet. 

“ B-i-double  1 — ” Then  he  hesitated.  Surely 
there  was  only  one  1.  He  was  confused,  and 
finished  the  word:  “i-o-u-s.” 

“ Next ! ” exclaimed  the  teacher,  with  judicial 
severity. 

Twenty  minutes  saw  all  the  spellers  in  their 
seats  save  four,  who  stood  like  lonesome  teeth  in 


THE  SPELLING  SCHOOL.  21 

a hard-used  comb.  They  spelled  rapidly,  without 
hesitation,  and  with  a constant  undercurrent  of 
defiance  for  the  other  side.  Charley  Clay  and 
Alice  Corse  stood  alone  against  Jane  Austin  and 
Bill  Adams.  In  a moment  of  weakness  poor 
Charley  went  down.  Some  young  men  near  the 
door  were  conversing  aloud. 

“ Keep  order,  there,”  warned  the  teacher.  The 
trespass  was  modified,  but  not  abated.  The 
teacher  strolled  back,  pronouncing  and  listening 
conscientiously.  The  youths  grew  bolder,  and 
laughed  aloud. 

“ Shut  up,  or  get  out ! ” The  master  was  furi- 
ous. He  towered  like  a fate  before  the  head  and 
front  of  the  offending.  The  youth  “shut  up,”  but 
presently  he  went  out  also,  though  he  preserved  a 
discreet  care  as  to  his  movements. 

Five  minutes  more  and  Jane  Austin  was  alone, 
facing  her  fair  antagonist.  The  interest  was 
intense.  Every  word  pronounced  was  followed 
from  the  teacher  to  the  speller,  and  when  it  had 
dropped,  correctly  framed,  from  ruby  lips,  the 
people  waited  breathlessly  for  the  next  assault. 
There  was  no  defiance  in  the  spelling  now:  it  was 
prompt,  precise,  mechanical.  But  a nervous  strain 
was  upon  the  audience.  Age  and  youth,  gallant 
and  girl,  were  all  attention.  It  was  lo  o’clock, 
and  these  two  seemed  determined  to  spell  cor- 


22 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


rectly  till  daylight  came.  The  teacher  was  look- 
ing through  the  book  for  difficult  words.  He 
wished  to  end  the  agony. 

“Sieve,”  “seine,”  “frankincense,”  all  the  array 
was  marshalled,  and  the  fair  young  woman  who 
had  spelled  so  glibly  every  harder  word  tripped 
on  “until,”  and  sat  down,  crushed  with  a 
double  1. 

Alice  Corse  spelled  it  easily,  and  looked  to  the 
teacher.  No,  it  was  late  enough.  He  would  not 
try  to  spell  her  down.  There  was  a little  clapping  ; 
of  hands,  a little  flutter  of  triumph  from  Charley 
Clay’s  side,  and  then  a moment’s  pause,  while  the  ' 
teacher  thanked  his  audience  for  its  good  behavior, 
invited  “each  and  every  one  to  return  two  weeks 
from  to-night,”  and  opened  the  door  with  all  the 
grace  of  a Chesterfield — grace  that  changed  to  > 
rage  as  a huge  log,  stood  upon  the  step  and  leaned  ; 
against  the  door  by  the  ejected  young  man,  came 
tumbling  into  the  room.  i 

But  he  was  helpless.  His  reign  was  over. 
School  was  dismissed,  and  he  was  plain  Jim  Fennel 
now.  The  log  was  removed,  while  rude  boys 
shouted  their  glee. 

Youths  gathered  about  the  door,  chaffing  each 
other,  holding  their  places  against  much  shoving 
this  way  and  that.  As  the  crowd  filed  slowly  out, 
girls  would  see  an  elbow  projected  into  that  narrow 


THE  SPELLING  SCHOOL- 


23 


lane  by  some  Darby  who  hoped  that  this,  his  Joan, 
might  be  kind  to-night. 

“Can  I see  you  safe  home.?” 

Month-old  derision  sprang  from  her  refusal, 
and  a nest  of  mad  rogues  proclaimed  his  scorn. 
But  some  were  fortunate.  Fair  girl  with  hood 
and  tippet,  framing  a face  of  guilelessness  and 
health,  would  drop  a timid  hand  upon  that  awk- 
ward arm,  and  hurry  through  the  door  before  the 
peal  of  ribaldry  could  come;  hurry  into  the  high- 
way, then  walk  more  slowly  home,  pausing  at  the 
doorway,  giving  goodbye  again  and  again,  then 
living  in  ecstacy  till  the  silent  winter  night  erased 
all  wakefulness,  and  poured  a flood  of  dreams 
about  her  bed. 

While  the  youthful  crowd  was  filing  out, 
Ellet  shook  hands  with  the  older  and  prosier 
voters  about  the  stove,  and  shook  them 
warmly. 

“Can’t  spell  much,  can  you,  Ellet.?”  laughed 
one  jolly  old  fellow  of  the  opposite  family  of 
political  faith. 

“ I alwa57^s  try  to  follow  the  million,”  said  the 
younger  man,  and  his  hearers  enjoyed  the  moder- 
ate jest. 

“ Come  home  with  me,  and  stay  all  night,”  said 
Dave  Edwards,  gray-haired,  but  vigorous  as  any 
of  his  boys. 


24 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ No,  you  better  stay  with  us  to-night,  Ellet,” 
interposed  an  uncle.  But  young  Mr.  Grant  con- 
sidered the  first  invitation  the  better  one,  and 
after  becoming  hesitation,  accepted  it.  He  could 
count  on  his  uncle’s  vote  and  influence  in  the  com- 
ing campaign,  while  some  labor  might  be  needed 
in  the  Edwards  vineyard. 


CHAPTER  III. 


BEGINNING  THE  CANVASS. 

In  the  language  of  the  Republicans  the  “polit- 
ical pot  was  boiling.”  That  was  a phrase  grown 
hoary  with  age  in  Indiana.  Ellet  Grant  had  con- 
cluded to  seek  the  service  of  the  public,  and  he 
had  come  to  the  spelling-school  chiefly  because  it 
was  a good  way  to  begin  the  canvass.  He 
believed  he  could  secure  the  nomination  for  sheriff, 
and  was  comfortably  confident  of  an  election  in 
that  event.  True,  the  party  majority  was  very 
small,  and  likely  at  any  time  to  be  smaller,  or 
even  overturned  entirely  by  a good  national  nomi- 
nation on  the  other  side,  or  by  some  potent  local 
issue.  The  Democrats  used  to  carry  it  with 
Hendricks  whenever  they  chose  to  run  him;  Til- 
den  carried  the  county  in  1876,  and  Hancock 
again  in  1880.  One  other  time,  when  the  opposi- 
tion raised  the  cry  that  the  auditor’s  books  ought 
to  be  opened,  they  carried  it  again  from  top  to 
bottom.  Now  and  then  a treasurer,  clerk  or 
recorder  from  the  enemy’s  camp  had  broken 
through  the  lines,  and  won  an  election  from  an 


25 


26 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


unsavory  nominee,  even  while  the  rest  of  the  ticket 
was  saved.  Added  to  this  was  the  undoubted 
personal  strength  of  Frank  Logan,  upon  whom 
the  Democrats  had  already  fixed  as  their  nominee 
for  sheriff.  But  spite  of  it  all,  Ellet  did  not  fear 
defeat.  The  party’s  normal  majority,  the  recent 
fairly  good  record  in  county  affairs,  and  his  own 
strength  in  a large  and  influential  circle  of  rela- 
tives, would  overcome,  he  believed,  any  possibility 
of  defeat. 

So  he  sauntered  out  into  the  night  with  his 
friends,  almost  the  last  to  leave  the  school-room, 
and  they  all  walked  slowly  home.  The  farmer’s 
wife  was  abed,  but  her  good  nature  was  proof 
against  trespass,  and  the  noisy  entry  into  the  house 
was  in  no  wise  tempered. 

“William,  go  down  cellar  and  get  some  apples 
and  cider,”  said  the  farmer,  as  he  drew  up  the 
chairs  to  the  fireplace.  “We  keep  the  stove  back 
there  to  warm  the  room,”  he  said,  rather  gaily, 
“but  I burn  a fireplace  myself,  because  I like  it.” 

While  William  was  absent  in  the  caverns  under 
the  house,  young  David,  last  born  and  favorite  of 
the  patriarch,  invaded  the  kitchen,  and  returned 
with  the  fried  cakes  that  hold  in  their  curling 
brown  sides  a key  to  rural  felicity. 

“I  don’t  want  no  glasses  to  drink  cider  out  of,” 
said  the  farmer,  noting  with  gratification  that 


BEGINNING  THE  CANVASS. 


27 


Ellet  had  chosen  a tincup,  and  was  helping  him- 
self to  a brimming  measure  of  the  beverage. 
“ The  boys  and  girls  like  glasses  better,  and  that^s 
all  right;  but  I take  more  comfort  out  of  the  old 
ways.” 

The  four  young  men  sat  with  their  father  and 
his  guest,  in  a semi-circle  about  the  blazing  hickory 
upon  the  hearth,  chatting  with  each  other,  or  in- 
terjecting, with  a pleasant  deference,  a question 
or  comment  in  the  principal  talk.  The  late 
luncheon  was  nearly  at  an  end,  when  Ellet  turned 
to  his  host  and  launched  the  message  he  had  come 
to  bring: 

“Uncle  Dave,  I am  thinking  of  making  the 
race  for  sheriff  this  year.  What  do  you  think.?  ” 

The  boys  were  all  attention  to  that.  Three  of 
them  were  voters,  and  the  fourth  would  miss  it 
by  so  short  a time  that,  barring  the  simple  act  of 
suffrage,  he,  too,  was  a man. 

“Well,”  drawled  Edwards,  growing  serious  at 
once,  “I  dono  how  the  land  lays.  Who  else  is 
out.?” 

“ No  one  on  our  side.  The  Democrats  will 
nominate  Frank  Logan,  I hear.” 

“Well,  you  ought  to  make  a good  race,  Ellet.” 
This  with  feeling,  and  a frank  facing  of  the 
younger  man.  “ But  it  will  cost  more  than  it 
comes  to,  won’t  it.?  ” 


28 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ Oh,  I think  not.  It  will  cost  nothing  for  a 
corruption  fund — that’s  certain.  I believe  a man 
ought  to  be  chosen  for  office  because  the  people 
want  him;  not  because  he  is  the  most  successful 
purchaser  of  votes.  I shall  make  the  canvass 
simply  on  my  merits,  and  if  the  Republicans 
want  some  other  man  there,  that  settles  it.  I will 
get  out  of  the  way.” 

“Good  enough!  good  enough  I”  warmly.  Then 
with  less  feeling,  “How  do  you  find  things  so 
far.^  ” 

“ Well,  honest.  Uncle  Dave,  I find  men  inclined 
to  encourage  me.  They  tell  me  wherever  I have 
gone  it  is  time  the  out-of-town  districts  had  some 
representation  in  the  court-house,  and  they  even 
seem  to  think  I am  the  man.”  And  he  laughed 
a little,  to  wash  away  the  vanity. 

“ Good  enough,  um-m-m.  Well,  if  that  clock 
aint  striking  ’leven.  You’re  tired,  Ellet.  We 
better  all  go  to  bed.” 

And  so  the  matter  ended;  but  the  candidate 
felt  hopeful  of  the  support  of  the  Edwards  family. 
Coming  here  for  the  night  was  a good  idea.  One 
of  the  boys  took  a candle  and  led  him  to  the  big 
spare  room.  There  was  an  ancient  chest  of 
drawers,  surmounted  with  a swinging  mirror  that 
had  been  broken  across  some  chilly  night  by  the 
too  ardent  heat  of  the  candle.  There  was  a pic- 


BEGINNING  THE  CANVASS. 


29 


ture  of  “Washington  Crossing  the  Delaware,” 
and  a flashy  print  representing  “A  Home  in  the 
West.”  The  floor  was  covered  with  a carpet  of 
rag,  woven  long  ago,  but  still  untarnished;  its  reds 
and  blues  and  greens  and  yellows  appearing  with 
that  method  known  as  “ hit  and  miss.”  The 
paper  window  blinds  were  drawn  exactly  half 
way  down,  and  back  of  them  swept  white  muslin 
curtains,  relieved  with  red  rosettes  and  gaudy 
feathers.  The  mammoth  bed  was  sentineled  with 
four  tall  posts.  It  held  an  open  net  of  crossing 
ropes  that  creaked  as  he  clambered  between  the 
soft  wool  sheets,  adjusting  itself  to  his  weight,  but 
rising  to  complaint  again  as  he  turned  from  side 
to  side,  exulting,  fearing,  hoping,  planning  for  the 
future.  The  great  clock  by  the  chimney  down 
stairs  invoked  attention  by  a premonitory  whirr, 
and  then  tolled  off  twelve. 

Ellet  sank  to  sleep  with  visions  of  a following 
both  numerous  and  earnest,  strong  enough  to  bear 
down  any  opposition  he  might  encounter  when  he 
came  to  town. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FIRST  LESSONS  IN  GOVERNMENT. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  in  May,  Esther  Grant 
walked  home  from  church  with  young  John 
Haberly.  If  she  had  followed  her  own  inclination 
in  the  matter  she  never  would  have  invited  him, 
for  Haberly  did  not  enjoy  the  most  savory  of 
reputations  in  certain  moral  lines;  but  the  ante- 
convention  campaign  was  now  open,  and  this  was 
a vastly  useful  man  to  Ellet.  He  stood  as  the 
intermediary  between  the  staunch  purity  of  that 
young  man’s  political  methods  and  the  more  prac- 
tical rules  and  elastic  consciences  of  the  workers. 
He  was  handsome,  acute,  possessed  of  something 
resembling  culture,  and  was  undoubted  authority, 
when  he  chose  to  express  himself,  on  young  Grant’s 
chances  for  success. 

“ Oh,  Ellet  is  doing  nicely,”  he  said,  in  answer 
to  the  girl’s  inquiry.  “He  is  popular  all  over 
the  county,  and  would  have  no  opposition  even 
in  town,  but  for  the  notion  they  entertain  there 
that  his  father  is  too  strong  a temperance  man.” 

“Can  one  be  too  strong  a temperance  man.^” 
asked  Esther,  in  surprise. 


30 


FIRST  LESSONS  IN  GOVERNMENT. 


31 


“With  politicians,  yes.  They  urge  that  his 
father  is  not  true  to  the  party;  that  he  trains  with 
the  Prohibitionists,  and  that  Beal  was  defeated 
two  years  ago  through  your  father’s  efforts  for 
the  cold-water  ticket.” 

“You  certainly  do  not  blame  father  for  favor- 
ing temperance,  do  you.?  ” 

“ Not  at  all.  But  active  work  for  that  party 
may  put  a man  where  he  can  ask  few  favors  of 
any  other.” 

All  that  was  good  and  noble  in  the  girl  rebelled 
at  the  doctrine.  A Moloch  could  not  be  more 
merciless  than  that.  She  was  as  sure  that  her 
father  was  right  as  that  the  decalogue  was  wise. 
Not  a shadow  of  doubt  could  enter  her  heart.  If, 
then,  he  were  right,  if  wine  be  a mocker  and 
strong  drink  be  raging,  what  need  a man  fear  for 
opposing  them.?  Why  should  he — how  could  he 
be  punished.?  And  who  dare  visit  that  wrath  on 
his  children.?  Was  it  not  enough  that  he  was 
right .? 

But  she  said  little  of  all  this  to  Haberly.  She 
was  bound  up  in  the  hope  of  her  brother’s  success, 
and  had  determined  to  win  a stronger  support 
from  this  ally.  She  had  learned  in  the  conversa- 
tion at  home  that  Haberly  could  do  things  no  one 
else  dared  attempt;  that  he  was  very  influential 
even  among  church  members,  and  yet  maintained 


32 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


a strong  place  in  the  less  critical  ranks  of  the  poli- 
ticians. He  was  a man  who  could  preside  at  a 
temperance  meeting  one  night,  and.  ask  for  a 
reduction  of  the  dramshop  license  the  next.  He 
could  make  a telling  speech  to  the  graduating 
class  on  Friday,  and  extend  all  the  courtesies  of 
the  city  to  visiting  bacchanals  on  Saturday.  He 
could  sit  in  his  pew  in  the  morning,  smooth  shaven 
and  genteel,  attentive  to  the  sermon  and  not  neg- 
lectful of  the  contribution  box,  and  in  the  afternoon 
could  open  a bottle  of  wine  in  Sautern’s  back  ; 
room,  and  play  seven-up  to  see  who  should  pay  for 
it.  He  was  strongly  opposed  to  vice  and  drunken-  ' 
ness,  yet  unalterable  in  his  defense  of  license. 

He  sat  in  the  cool  parlor  of  Wesley  Grant’s  big'  i 
farm-house  after  dinner,  and  enjoyed  to  the  full  ; 
the  entertainment  of  his  host’s  charming  daughters.  { 
Esther’s  loveliness,  her  vivacity,  her  mental  i 
endowments,  surprised  Haberly.  But  he  turned  ; 
from  her  to  a deeper  wonder  at  the  charms  of  her  ii 
younger  sister.  Alice  just  touched  the  borders  of 
womanhood.  Her  native  talents  had  been  trained 
and  polished  in  the  best  of  schools.  She  was 
devoted  to  music,  and  made  each  Sabbath  after- 
noon a season  of  melody.  Whether  she  caught 
her  sister’s  spirit  of  service  in  Ellet’s  cause,  one 
could  not  say;  but  surely  her  voice  never  rose  so 
sweetly  to  the  clear  heights  of  song,  and  her  hands 


FIRST  LESSONS  IN  GOVERNMENT. 


33 


never  drew  from  the  keys  strains  so  entrancing. 

“You  have  outdone  yourself,  Alice,”  said  her 
father  proudly,  as  he  left  the  parlor  to  the  younger 
people. 

Afternoon  had  drifted  into  evening.  Wesley 
Grant  strolled  from  the  house,  his  wife  beside  him, 
and  looked  over  the  farm.  Ever  since  they  had 
owned  a home  this  had  been  one  of  the  weekly 
ordinances.  They  wandered  through  a mossy 
gate  by  the  garden,  and  passed  into  the  orchard. 

“ That  russet  isn’t  dead,  after  all,”  said  the 
farmer;  and  then,  continuing  in  the  half  musing 
way  he  always  employed  in  these  rambles:  “ The 
row  of  pearmains  is  looking  well;  too  much  sod 
about  them,  though.  The  boys  don’t  plow  as  I 
used  to.  Good  mind  to  sow  the  orchard  down  in 
oats  next  year,  just  to  get  it  cultivated.  These 
old  trees  are  going.  Can’t  expect  much  more 
from  them.  We  set  them  out  the  spring  Ellet 
was  born.  You  held  them  straight,  and  I packed 
the  soil  about  the  roots.  What  a heap  of  comfort 
we  have  had  from  this  orchard.” 
j At  the  farther  side  they  went  through  the  bars 
! that  had  long  served  occasional  use  as  a gate,  and 
passed  down  the  east  lane  between  the  fields — the 
! woman  silent,  almost  content;  the  man  talking 
i on  as  if  his  thoughts  became  audible  on  these 
Sunday  strolls. 


34 


an  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ Meadow  getting  pretty  short  already,  and  this 
only  May.  We  are  needing  rain.  Better  put  that 
field  in  clover  another  year.  Wheat  coming  on 
splendidly.  Boys  have  this  piece  aboixt  ready  for 
corn.  Guess  I will  plant  that  York  State  seed 
here;  it  matures  quicker  than  our  larger  kind.” 
Then  he  hummed  a little  of  Alice’s  last  song,  and 
continued: 

“Did  a big  thing  when  we  hauled  that  sand 
hill  into  this  swamp;  raise  pretty  good  crops  on 
both  places  now.  Must  have  the  boys  move  this  . 
fence  next  winter,  and  throw  these  fields  together. 
Since  we  got  the  woods  pasture  we  don’t  need  so  = 
many  fences.  House  and  barns  look  pretty  good 
from  here.”  They  had  reached  the  farther 
fields,  and  were  crossing  to  the  west  lane.  “ Don’t ; 
know  as  good  farm  buildings  in  the  county;  but; 
the  granary  ought  to  be  painted.  Pretty  good; 
house;  pretty  good  house.  Pretty  good  children, 
in  it.  Wish  Ellet  wouldn’t  run  for  sheriff.”  ; 
“ So  do  I.” 

This  from  the  wife — promptly,  fervently. 
Then  she  was  silent  again.  Somehow,  Wesley 
Grant  was  silent  after  that.  They  strolled  back 
through  the  west  lane,  they  looked  at  the  stock, 
stroked  the  sides  of  the  large,  gentle,  odorous 
cows;  repelled  advances  of  nibbling  sheep; 
smoothed  the  silken  coats  of  the  horses  that  were 


FIRST  LESSONS  IN  GOVERNMENT. 


86 


enjoying  their  one  day  in  seven;  inspected  the 
poultry-houses  whose  tenants  were  already  re- 
tired, and  counted  the  nests  where  hermit  hens — 
misanthropes — sat  silent  on  comfortless  eggs,  ex- 
pectant of  chickens  as  comfortless. 

Then  into  the  barn,  across  unlittered  floors, 
under  mows  yet  stored  with  hay,  and  past  cribs 
yet  rich  with  corn;  looking  into  stalls  where 
comfort  waited,  winter  and  summer.  Then 
across  the  grassy  yard  as  the  sun  went  down,  and 
so  to  their  bench  on  the  porch.  Had  they  worked 
years  to  make  this  home.^  Were  their  hands 
hard  and  their  hair  white  and  their  frames  stiff- 
ened by  unceasing  labor.?  Yes,  but  eyes  and  ears 
and  brain  were  full  of  payment  now.  Hear  those 
voices  in  the  parlor.  Know  that  loving  children 
are  happy  there.  See  the  strong  horses,  the 
smooth  cattle,  the  contented  sheep;  hear  that 
melody  of  milking-time — white  streams  against 
bright  tin;  see  the  last  ray  of  sunshine  come  like 
a flaming  herald  across  the  fields,  the  woods,  the 
orchard,  till  it  sweeps  to  them  and  touches  their 
very  feet  with  beauty,  then  vanishes,  and  brings 
soft  twilight  to  receive  the  dying  day. 

See  that  black  cloud  on  the  very  verge  of  the 
world,  with  his  foldings  of  silver,  his  centre  of 
burnished  gold. 


CHAPTER  V. 


HOSTILITIES  DECLARED. 

Next  morning  John  Haberly  met  Sautern  in  the 
market,  where  each  had  come  for  the  day’s  supply 
of  meat.  They  walked  away  together. 

“ Saut,”  said  the  polished  man,  “ I was  out  to  I 
Pretty  Lake  Church  yesterday,  and  went  home  to 
dinner  with  Ellet  Grant’s  folks.  He  is  going  to 
be  a candidate  before  the  convention.” 

“Yes,  I know  it.  Wants  to  be  sheriff.”  This 
somewhat  surlily. 

“And  I shouldn’t  wonder  if  he  succeeded.  Ellet  ; 
has  been  doing  some  pretty  good  work.  And  then  ; 
he  has  relatives  all  over  the  county.  He  would 
make  a strong  race.”  i 

“ Oh,  anybody  will  make  a strong  race.” 

“Well,  I don’t  know.'  If  the  Democrats 
nominate  Frank  Logan,  and  it  looks  as  if 
they  would,  we  don’t  want  to  take  anything  for  ; 
granted.”  | 

“If  we  can’t  elect  anybody  we  can’t  elect  ^ 

nobody.”  The  saloon-keeper  was  not  in  a pleasant  i 

mood.  J 


M 


HOSTILITIES  DECLARED. 


87 


“What  do  you  mean  by  that?  ” asked  Haberly, 
for  the  epigrams  of  Sautern  were  sometimes  very 
profound. 

“ If  we  are  not  strong  enough  to  elect  our  man 
— no  matter  who  he  is — just  because  he  is  our  man, 
we  are  not  strong  enough  to  elect  anybody.  It  is 
not  a question  of  candidates;  it  is  a question  of 
party.” 

“ In  my  opinion  we  are  not  strong  enough  to 
elect  a man  regardless  of  who  he  is.  Recollect 
we  lost  Beal  two  years  ago  because  too  many 
Republicans  were  down  on  him.” 

“Yes,”  retorted  Sautern,  hotly,  “and  Beal  was 
beaten  by  this  same  Ellet  Grant’s  father.  What 
right  has  he  to  come  up  and  ask  for  favors?” 

“Well,  Beal  was  a pretty  rocky  nomination, 
Saut,”  said  Haberly,  persuasively. 

“But  he  was  nominated,  wasn’t  he?  That’s 
enough  for  you  and  me  to  know.  I’m  agin  it.  I 
tell  you  now,  John,  I’m  agin  Ellet’s  nomination 
all  the  time.” 

They  had  reached  Sautern’s  side  gate.  He 
opened  it  angrily,  and  walked  up  to  the  house,  in 
the  evident  mood  of  a power  to  be  placated. 
Haberly  wanted  to  stand  there  and  argue  awhile. 
He  did  not  like  to  leave  so  potent  an  actor  in  an 
ill  humor.  But  he  could  do  or  say  no  more.  He 
went  on  to  his  home,  where  his  sisters  awaited 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


him,  and  spent  the  morning  after  breakfast  in  the 
barn,  where  he  pretended  to  be  busy  with  a har- 
ness, but  where  he  was  in  fact  sitting  on  an 
inverted  half-bushel  basket,  studying  out  some 
way  to  enlist  the  workers  without  sacrificing 
Grant’s  candidacy.  He  knew  if  Sautern  were  un- 
opposed he  would  run  Cowan  for  sheriff,  and  Jim 
could  not  be  elected.  The  one  redeeming  thing 
about  him  was  an  honorable  discharge  from  the 
army  of  the  United  States.  He  was  past  middle  ; 
life,  had  been  a member  of  the  legislature,  ! 
and  was  “favorably  mentioned”  for  re-election;  . 
but  his  course  in  the  house  and  his  record  at  home  ' 
would  bar  him  from  any  election,  no  matter  who 
backed  him.  His  public  and  private  life  were  such 
that  good  people  simply  did  not  want  Jim  Cowan 
for  any  office.  ■ 

All  these  things  hung  very  heavily  upon  i 
Haberly’s  mind,  and  along  toward  noon  he  washed  ; 
his  hands  and  went  down  town.  He  entered  the 
hardware  store,  and  talked  the  matter  over  with 
Sims,  of  the  county  central  committee. 

“Oh,  you  are  worrying  too  much,”  said  the 
merchant.  “ Sautern  is  valuable,  but  he  don’t 
run  the  county.  If  Ellet  gets  the  delegates  he  can 
have  the  nomination.  He  has  nearly  a month  of 
time  to  work  yet.  The  way  things  lay  now  that  ■ 
office  ought  to  go  to  the  country  this  year,  but  no  i 


HOSTILITIES  DECLARED.  39 

one  can  tell  how  it  will  turn  out.  As  a member 
of  the  committee  of  course  I have  nothing  to  say ; 
but  don’t  you  be  getting  mad  at  Sautern  or  any- 
body else.  What  we  all  want  is  harmony.” 
While  they  spoke,  a man  of  sixty  years,  upright, 
rugged  and  strong,  with  the  beard  of  a patriarch 
and  the  eye  of  a boy,  entered  the  store. 

“ Hello,  Haberly,”  he  cried,  cheerily.  “ Hello, 
men.  My  boys  want  two  more  of  your  plow 
points  for  the  iron  beam:  one  with  cutter,  one 
without.  Seems  as  if  this  summer’s  plowing  was 
costing  more  than  the  land  was  worth.  Haberly, 
thank  your  stars  you  live  in  town.” 

“I’d  thank  my  stars  if  I owned  a farm  like 
yours,  Wesley,”  retorted  the  younger  man.  “ The 
dinner  I ate  there  yesterday  tastes  good  yet.” 
While  the  clerk  was  filling  the  farmer’s  orders, 
Haberly  sounded  him  on  his  views  of  his  son’s 
candidacy,  and  the  campaign  in  general. 

“Well,  I don’t  want  Ellet  to  run,”  said  the  old 
man;  “but  he  concluded  to  make  the  race,  and — 
well,  he’s  of  age,  you  know,”  laughingly. 

“ Some  of  the  boys  in  town  talk  of  running 
Cowan  against  him,”  said  Haberly,  as  a feeler. 
The  old  man  looked  very  keenly  at  the  smooth 
junior,  his  bright  eyes  twinkling. 

“You  want  me  to  say  something.  Maybe  I 
shouldn’t  do  it;  but  you  men  know  I always 


41) 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


speak  ray  mind.  Cowan  can’t  be  elected.  I 
wouldn’t  insure  Ellet’s  election;  but  he  will  stand 
as  far  ahead  of  Cowan  as  you  will,  John,  ahead  of 
Sautern,”  Haberly  removed  his  hat,  and  bowed. 
“ I suppose  your  heelers  here  in  town  will  oppose 
Ellet  because  I fought  Beal  two  years  ago.  Yet 
I was  right.  Beal  died  of  delirium  tremens  less 
than  a month  after  election.  He  was  in  no  way 
fit  to  be  auditor  of  this  county,  and  the  man  that 
beat  him — barring  politics — is  without  a single 
objection.” 

“Did  you  work  for  the  man  that  beat  Beal.^” 
asked  the  central  committeeman. 

“No,  I worked  for  the  Prohibition  candidate, 
and  he  got  enough  Republican  votes  to  show  you 
fellows  that  decency  in  nominations  is  the  surest 
way  to  success  in  elections.” 

Several  men  had  drifted  into  the  store,  some  to 
buy,  some  to  listen. 

“Would  you  oppose  Cowan’s  election  in 
the  same  way  if  he  were  nominated.^”  asked 
Sims. 

“ I certainly  should.  It  isn’t  good  politics  for 
rhe  to  say  so,  but  I give  you  fair  warning,  Cowan 
or  no  man  like  him  can  be  elected  in  this  county. 
If  thing^have  come  to  that  pass  in  the  county 
seat,  better  make  the  offices  appointive  at  once, 
and  give  Sautern  the  patronage.” 


HOSTILITIES  DECLARED. 


41 


Something  of  a laugh,  a little  of  applause 
greeted  the  sentiment.  Wesley  Grant  made  a 
few  remarks  about  the  weather,  paid  for  his  hard- 
ware, asked  the  price  of  clover  seed,  and  went 
out,  sturdy  and  unimpaired  as  he  came  in. 

Haberly  rocked  vigorously  on  a deal  chair, 
chewing  a toothpick  and  trying  to  assume  a face 
of  lesser  gravity. 

“Wish  we  hadn’t  waked  him  up,”  he  said  to 
Sims. 

“ Might  as  well  have  it  out  one  time  as  another,” 
said  the  committeeman,  and  he  looked  across  the 
street  at  Sautern’s  saloon,  where  the  proprietor 
was  already  receiving  a report  of  the  farmer’s 
expressions — report  that  won  the  newsbearer  a 
generous  drink  from  the  proprietor’s  own  bottle. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


HABERLY  AND  ESTHER. 

The  day  for  the  primaries  was  at  hand.  They 
would  be  held  on  Friday,  and  the  following 
Monday  was  the  date  for  the  county  convention. 
The  Democratic  nominations  would  riot  occur 
until  two  weeks  later.  It  was  thought  by  the 
shrewder  of  that  party  that  as  they  must  of 
necessity  be  on  the  defensive,  some  advantage 
might  be  gained  by  waiting.  Furthermore,  the 
leaders  ielt  assured  the  fight  for  sheriff,  on  the 
Republican  side,  lay  between  Ellet  Grant  and 
James  Cowan.  On  their  own  Frank  Logan  was 
conceded  the  nomination.  Should  they  hold  their 
convention  first,  and  name  their  man,  the  Repub- 
licans might  be  afraid  to  choose  Cowan,  owing  to 
his  bad  record,  and  the  enmity  against  him  in  the 
out  townships.  Ellet  Grant  would  give  them  a 
harder  struggle,  and  they  were  not  in  position  to 
invite  difficulties.  Beyond  the  sheriff  they  had 
really  little  or  no  hope  of  electing  any  one,  but 
they  would  name  a full  ticket,  and  were  already 
working  like  beavers.  Taken  first  and  last,  the 


42 


HABERLY  AND  ESTHER. 


43 


situation  had  never  been  quite  so  interesting  to 
the  politicians,  and  no  farmer  was  so  base  he 
could  not  entertain  at  least  four  candidates  a 
week. 

Thursday  evening  John  Haberly  drove  out  to 
the  Grant  farm  for  a final  consultation  with  his 
friend.  Ellet  was  not  at  home.  He  had  gone 
over  to  Uncle  Dave  Edwards’,  to  arrange  some 
details  for  to-morrow’s  work,  but  would  soon 
return.  Esther  met  the  politician,  and  invited 
him  to  a seat  on  the  broad  porch. 

“Be  honest,  Mr.  Haberly,”  she  said;  “have 
you  been  to  tea.^  ” 

“Miss  Esther,  I cannot  tell  a lie.  I have  not, 
and  am  hungry  as  a harvest  hand.” 

“ Then  you  shall  have  a treat.  Sit  here  and 
tell  father  about  politics  till  I call  you.” 

“You  are  not  abandoning  me  to  starvation,  and 
your  father  to  torture,  are  you.^”  he  asked. 

“ No,  truly.  You  shall  have  your  supper.  And 
as  for  father,  he  will  take  care  of  himself,  I think.” 
She  went  gaily  into  the  house  and  prepared  for 
the  entertainment  of  the  guest.  The  young  man 
found  Wesley  not  so  easily  approached  on  the 
subject  of  politics  as  might  have  been  expected. 
They  all  knew  his  position,  and  he  had  nothing  to 
alter  or  explain.  He  hoped  Ellet  would  be  nomi- 
nated, now  that  he  had  entered  the  field,  but 


44 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


would  clearly  have  preferred  that  his  family  re- 
main uncontaminated;  for  with  all  deference  to 
Haberly,  in  whom  he  recognized  an  active  mana- 
ger and  a passably  clean  man,  the  sturdy  old 
farmer  had  little  use  for  politicians.  No  one 
related  to  him  had  ever  asked  for  office,  and  this 
was  a matter  of  keen  gratification  when  he 
saw  fit  to  protest  against  some  odious  nomina- 
tion or  measure.  He  held  that  honest  men  could 
not  make  a living  in  politics ; that  those  who 
managed  canvasses  and  kept  within  the  law  must 
have  ample  means  outside  the  revenue  from 
parties.  It  was  his  contention  that  official  prefer- 
ment was  largely  bartered  and  sold  by  the  men 
who  could  control  the  most  votes,  to  the  men  who 
would  pay  the  most  for  them. 

“What  men  like  me  must  do,”  he  said,  “is  to 
stay  out  entirely  and  watch  you  fellows.  While 
you  rule  well,  we  can  let  you  go;  but  when 
you  abuse  power,  we  must  take  it  away  from 
you.” 

Haberly  had  treated  the  matter  lightly,  assur- 
ing his  host  that  parties  were  necessary,  and  this 
fact  made  management  also  necessary. 

“ Of  course  we  do  a shady  thing  now  and 
then,”  he  admitted,  laughingly;  “but  the  Demo- 
crats are  so  corrupt  we  have  to.  Fight  the  devil 
with  fire,  you  know.” 


HABERLT  AND  ESTHER. 


45 


“Would  you  fight  Niagara  with  water?” 
asked  the  farmer. 

“No,  probably  not.” 

“Well,  then,  don’t  talk  of  fighting  the  devil 
with  fire.  He  can  stand  that  longer  than  you 
can.  Fight  the  devil  with  purity.  He  hasn’t 
a shield  in  all  hell  thick  enough  to  turn  one  dart 
of  truth.  Believe  me,  John,  if  you  have  a devil 
to  fight,  honesty — not  treachery,"  soberness — not 
rum;  light — not  darkness,  is  what  you  want  to 
use.” 

“ Mr.  Haberly ! Mr.  Haberly ! ” called  Esther 
from  the  dining  room,  “ come  in  to  tea.  I heard 
father  using  some  of  the  warmest  words.  You 
two  must  not  get  angry.  Look  at  that  table. 
How  can  men  quarrel  about  a thing  like  politics?” 

He  stopped  at  the  door  and  lifted  his  hands  in 
a comic  amazement.  China  and  silver  that  an 
earlier  Grant  had  hidden  at  the  family  home  in 
Maryland  when  the  British  burned  Washington; 
linen  that  Esther  had  spun  and  Alice  had  woven; 
tea  that  heated  an  urn  as  old  as  the  Northwest 
Territory,  and  sugar  that  came  from  the  depths 
of  the  forest  when  winter  grew  tender  in  the 
arms  of  spring ; bread  that  proved  the  housewife, 
and  butter  as  fragrant  as  clover — all  this  he  saw. 
But  chiefest  of  all  to  the  sated  palate  was  a heaping 
dish  of  crimson  cherries — the  first  of  the  season. 


46 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“Wherever  did  you  get  them?  ” he  gasped. 

“ In  our  little  garden,”  said  the  girl,  enjoying 
his  tribute  to  her  taste  and  care.  Haberly  grew 
impressive. 

“ Miss  Grant,”  he  said,  “ if  I could  sit  down 
once  a day  to  a feast  like  that,  I would  never 
touch  politics  again;  never — not  a single  pol.” 

“I  shall  tell  your  sisters  that  you  reviled  their 
housekeeping.” 

“You  may;  and  in  the  light  of  this  spread, 
they  would  tell  you  I was  justified.” 

She  poured  his  tea,  and  presided  at  the  little 
table  ; she  told  him  bits  of  history  about  the 
service,  and  gave  him  glimpses  into  a home  life 
more  pure  and  happy  than  he  had  thought  to  be 
possible.  She  drew  from  him  his  views  of  her 
brother’s  prospects,  and  when  he  had  finished  his 
meal,  permitted  him  to  sit  in  the  room  while  she 
pinned  on  a broad  apron  and  “did  the  tea  things.” 
Throughout  it  all  the  charm  of  music  came  to 
them  from  the  parlor.  Alice  had  taken  her  place 
at  the  piano,  and  was  closing  her  day  with  the 
melody  suited  to  her  mood.  To-night  it  was 
almost  pensive,  and  the  faithful  fingers  that  had 
been  busy  since  sunrise  in  the  homely  cares  of 
life,  touched  gently,  lovingly,  the  springs  of  sound, 
mingling  the  minor  chords  with  richer  strains,  as 
sorrow  must  temper  the  hey-dey  of  joy.  Com- 


HABERLY  AND  ESTHER. 


47 


fort  came  as  the  moments  passed,  and  when 
Esther  led  the  guest  from  the  dining  room,  Alice 
was  reveling  in  the  easy,  old-time  music  they 
loved  so  well. 

“ Come  and  sing,”  she  said,  without  pausing 
from  her  prelude.  No  lamp  had  been  lighted. 
Twilight  is  welcome  in  the  farm-house.  They 
stood  behind  her  and  joined  their  voices  until, 
indeed. 

The  night  was  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infested  the  day 
Had  folded  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 

And  silently  stolen  away. 

“ Ellet  is  late,”  said  Wesley  Grant,  as  the  young 
people  walked  out  on  the  porch. 

“ If  I knew  where  Edwards  lived  I would  drive 
over, and  go  onto  town,”  said  Haberly.  “I  ought 
to  be  there  now.” 

“You  turn  north  at  the  brick  school-house,  you 
know,”  said  Esther. 

John  Haberly  had  an  inspiration. 

“You  get  into  my  buggy,”  he  said  to  the  girl; 
“ go  with  me  to  Edwards’,  unless  we  meet  Ellet 
on  the  way,  and  then  come  back  with  him.  I 
would  get  lost  if  I undertook  to  find  the  way.” 

It  did  not  occur  to  Esther  that  John  Haberly, 
practical  politician,  knew  that  road  and  all  other 
roads  in  Fairview  County.  There  was  just  one 


48 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


instant  of  hesitation,  and  then  Wesley  Grant  said: 
“You  will  most  likely  meet  him  on  the  way.” 
And  she  took  that  for  assent.  Ten  minutes  later 
she  was  driving  swiftly  behind  Haberly’s  team, 
past  the  rippling  fields  of  ripening  wheat,  between 
broad  acres  of  springing  corn,  under  as  mellow  a 
moonlight  as  ever  flooded  the  fields  of  Andalusia. 

They  met  Ellet  half  way  to  the  Edwards  farm, 
and  Haberly  listened  to  the  last  report  and  gave 
his  final  instructions.  Then  Esther  was  lifted  to 
her  brother’s  side,  and  with  him  returned  home. 
He  was  sanguine  of  success  in  the  primaries  now, 
and  after  that  depended  on  the  strength  he  felt 
sure  of  developing  to  silence  any  antagonism  in 
town.  He  was  so  full  of  the  affair  that  he  paid 
slight  attention  to  Esther.  If  her  mood  was 
changed,  he  did  not  notice  it.  If  she  had  sent  her 
thoughts  roving  in  unknown  fields,  it  was  not  evi- 
dent to  him.  If  simple  contact  with  a man  who 
did  wrong — if  a certain  sympathy  with  him — 
shocked  her  less  than  formerly,  her  brother  was 
too  busy  now  to  see  it.  The  primaries  must  be 
carried. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  GANG  DEFIED. 

John  Haberly  drove  on  to  town,  and  the  first 
man  he  met  as  he  stepped  from  his  buggy  was 
Sautern. 

“Where  you  been.?”  demanded  the  dictator. 

“ Out  at  Grant’s.” 

“That  fool  Ellet  still  think  he  is  running  for 
sheriff.?” 

“Yes,  he  seems  to.  How  are  things  here.?” 

This  last  in  compliment  to  Sautern.  Haberly 
knew  how  things  were  quite  as  well  as  the  other, 
but  he  had  often  found  it  pay  to  feign  ignorance 
and  flatter  a fool. 

“Just  as  they  was.  John,  it  aint  no  use  for  you 
to  try  and  nominate  that  man.” 

“ Make  a good  candidate.  Make  a good  sheriff, 
too,”  said  Haberly,  as  he  tied  his  horses  in  front 
of  the  saloon,  and  lifted  their  collars  to  free  the 
sharp  hairs  of  the  manes.  Then  the  two  men  walked 
into  the  bar-room,  and  stood  at  the  far  corner,  Sau- 
tern talking  earnestly,  as  a man  sure  of  the  right,  yet 
inclined  to  be  charitable  to  one  who  could  not 
read  as  he  could. 


49 


50 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ Good  enough  sheriff,  mebby,  but  I tell  you  it 
won’t  do.  Now,  just  look  at  it,  John.  Here  he 
is — a man  that  never  goes  into  a saloon;  a man 
that  turns  up  his  nose  at  the  boys.  He  fixes  up 
in  a tailor-made  suit  of  clothes,  and  drives  a fancy 
team  into  town  of  a Sunday,  and  sets  up  there  in 
church  as  proud  as  a jaybird.  He’s  a hymn-book 
feller  and — ” 

“I  go  to  church  myself,  you  know,”  Haberly 
reminded  him. 

“Yes,  but  it  don’t  hurt  you,  John.  You  make 
yourself  solid  with  the  boys,  and  you  keep  your- 
self solid.  They  know  it  don’t  mean  no  harm 
with  you;  but  Ellet’s  too  fancy.  He’s  a sort  of 
holy-water  man — thinks  he  purifies  whoever  he 
touches.  Now,  he  won’t  put  up  no  money  in 
here.  When  the  boys  asks  for  a drink  on  his 
account,  must  I say:  ‘He  ain’t  buyin’  nothin’.?’ 
Why,  they’ll  say:  ‘Damn  such  a candidate!’  They 
won’t  whoop  it  up  for  him.  They  won’t  vote  for 
him.  Now,  you  go  around  this  town  to-night, 
and  you’ll  find  Jim  Cowan  solid  with  every 
last  man  of  them.  He  put  up  a fifty  with 
me  yesterday,  and  he  says:  ‘ Saut,’  says  he, 

‘ I don’t  want  no  friend  of  mine  to  be  out 
nothing  on  my  account.  Take  this  and  set 
out  something  for  the  boys.’  He  done  the 
ime  thing  at  Ringer’s  and  the  same  thing 


THE  GANG  DEFIED. 


51 


at  Steele’s;  only  he  only  give  them  twenty-five 
apiece.” 

“Put  up  a hundred  before  the  primaries.^” 

“ That’s  what  he  done.” 

“Where  did  he  get  it.^” 

“That’s  none  of  my  business,  and  it’s  none  of 
your  business.” 

“It  is  some  of  my  business.  He  has  owed  me 
house  rent  for  the  past  seven  years,  and  told  me 
just  last  Saturday  he  didn’t  have  a dollar.” 

“You  was  tryin’  to  squeeze  him  just  before 
convention,  was  you.?” 

“I  was  trying  to  get  my  own.” 

“Well,  you’ll  get  your  own,  as  you  call  it,  when 
he’s  elected — just  the  same  as  I will  get  mine — 
and  not  a minute  before.”  Sautern  was  dropping 
his  friendly  tone.  It  had  not  seemed  to  win 
Haberly.  He  was  getting  ugly.  “You  can’t  do 
any  good  with  a man  that  cuts  the  saloons.  If 
you  don’t  know  that  you  don’t  know  anything 
about  politics.” 

“Ellet  hasn’t  cut  the  saloons,”  protested 
Haberly. 

“Yes  he  has.  He  passed  my  place  four  times 
Saturday,  and  never  come  in  once.  No  more 
does  he  go  in  any  place.  Ringer  and  Steele  feels 
just  as  I do.  You  go  over  there  to  the  bar  and 
ask  them  fellows  what  they  think  of  Ellet  Grant 


52 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


for  sheriff.  Just  try  it.  Let  me  tell  you  another 
thing.  Now,  less  than  a month  ago,  old  Wesley 
Grant  went  into  Sims’  hardware  store  to  get  a 
plow  point.  They  got  to  talking  about  Jim  Cowan 
running  for  sheriff,  and  he — old  Wesley — ups  and 
says  if  Jim  is  nominated  he  will  bolt  the  ticket, 
just  as  he  did  when  Beal  was  nominated  two  years 
ago.  That  aint  goin’  to  do.  The  party  don’t 
warm  much  to  a man  that  kicks  it  every  time  he 
gets  into  a bad  temper.” 

“Sautern,”  said  Haberly  suddenly,  “suppose 
Ellet  Grant  is  nominated  without  sweetening  you 
up  any;  will  you  support  him.^” 

“No,  I won’t.  You  put  that  down  strong. 
I won’t.  No  more  will  Ringer  or  Steele.  He’s 
awful  proud  of  the  church  endorsement,  and  the 
lodge  endorsement,  and  the  sewing  society  en- 
dorsement. Let’s  see  them  elect  him.” 

“ But  you  are  doing  just  what  you  blame 
Wesley  for  doing.” 

“Well,  that’s  all  right.  I ain’t  askin’  no  offices. 
I’m  giving  them  out.’’ 

“ You  are 
“Yes,  I am.” 

“ 2^ou  are.^” 

“ That’s  what  I said.” 

John  Haberly  looked  the  rotund  man  over  from 
head  to  foot,  then  walked  a few  steps  forward  and 


THE  GANG  DEFIED. 


53 


back,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  pushed  up. 
He  wanted  to  quench  that  egotism,  but  was  too 
smooth  a politician  to  needlessly  anger  any  man  on 
the  eve  of  a convention.  He  thought  he  would 
try  the  fellows  at  the  bar. 

“Come  up  and  have  something,  Saut,”  he 
said. 

The  saloon-keeper  stood  beside  him,  and  each 
poured  half  a gill  of  liquor  into  a thick  glass, 
swallowed  it,  drank  some  water  to  quench  its  fire, 
and  then  Haberly  turned  to  the  group  of  revelers. 
They  were  standing  close  together,  talking  very 
earnestly  and  rather  noisily — about  nothing.  The 
bar-keeper  took  the  price  of  two  drinks  from 
Haberly’s  dollar,  and  gave  him  the  change. 

“ Charley,  what  do  you  think  of  Ellet  Grant’s 
chances  for  the  nomination.^”  he  asked  of  the  man 
nearest  him — Charley,  the  worker. 

This  person  was  carpenter  by  theory,  and  a 
vote-procurer  by  practice.  He  had  organized  the 
“Tanners”  in  1872;  the  “Flambeau  Club”  in 
1876,  and  the  “Boys  in  Blue”  in  1880. 

“Nomination  for  what.^”  asked  Charley, 
blankly.  The  rest  were  listening. 

“ Sheriff,”  said  Haberly. 

“What — him.?  For  sheriff.?  That  feller.?  Well 
I should  say  not.”  And  he  resumed  his  story  to 
the  boys. 


64 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“Why  not?”  asked  Haberly,  calmly  lighting  a 
cigar. 

“Why  not?  ’Cause  there’s  nothing  in  him. 
What’s  he  ever  done  for  the  party?” 

“ Voted  for  it,  every  time.” 

“Voted!”  with  withering  contempt.  “Did  he 
ever  put  up  a dollar?  Did  he  ever  go  with  the 
boys?  Naw — he’s  too  nice.  He  can’t  get  nothin’. 
This  aint  Mississippi.” 

Haberly  blew  a big  cloud  of  smoke  away  up 
toward  the  ceiling,  watched  it  a moment,  and  then  ' 
said,  without  a change  in  his  tone: 

“Have  something  with  me,  Charley.  Boys,  ’ 
have  something.” 

They  all  complied.  Charley  softened  a little. 
He  favored  Haberly  with  his  full  front;  he  had 
been  standing  edgewise,  and  talking  over  his  ) 
shoulder. 

“ Ellet’s  a good  man,  John,”  he  conceded.  But  i 
it  was  as  if  he  had  said:  “Ellet  is  six  feet  tall;”  ' 
or  “Ellet  has  fair  health.” 

Haberly  nodded,  removed  his  cigar,  and  blew 
up  another  billow  of  smoke  to  the  ceiling. 

“Drives  a . dam  elegant  team,”  Charley 
continued.  He  was  becoming  suave.  He 
was  in  a receptive  mood.  Perhaps  Haberly 
was  commissioned  to  do  something  for  the;„ 
boys.  J 


THE  GANG  DEFIED. 


55 


“Pretty  good  team,”  assented  the  politician. 
Then  he  gathered  up  his  change,  bowed  to  the 
group  with  the  grace  that  had  made  him  suc- 
cessful, and  sauntered  to  the  door.  The  proprietor 
followed  him. 

“You  see  how  it  is,  John,”  said  the  latter,  as  if 
a finality  had  been  reached.  “No  booze,  no 
boost.” 

“ Sautern,  you  don’t  know  how  strong  Ellet  is. 
The  people  think  this  is  their  year.  Now,  we 
have  been  making  some  mistakes  the  past  few 
campaigns.  Our  clerk  is  an  awful  weak  sister, 
and  our  surveyor  has  cost  the  tax-payers  a heap 
of  money  on  account  of  the  errors  in  those  ditch 
cases.  The  Democrats  have  been  naming  good 
men,  and  gaining  a little  every  year  since  1878. 
I honestly  believe  if  we  make  bad  nominations  this 
year  we  will  be  beaten.” 

“ Cowan  aint  a bad  nomination.  And,  if  he 
was.  I’m  tired  of  this  everlasting  colic  about  the 
people.  Damn  the  people  ! I am  in  favor  of 
nominating  whoever  the  politicians  want,  and 
cramming  the  ticket  down  the  throats  of  the  peo- , 
pie.  Who  are  they,  any  way.?  A lot  of  old  mud 
sills  who  would  like  to  drive  all  business  except 
the  churches  out  of  town.  The  politicians  have 
to  put  up  for  the  party,  run  its  machinery  and 
elect  its  men.  If  they  didn’t,  nobody  would  be 


66 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


elected.  They  ought  to  have  something  to  say 
about  who  should  have  the  offices.” 

“ Seems  as  if  they  do  have  something  to  say,” 
said  Haberly,  calmly,  jingling  his  loose  change, 
and  looking  down  street. 

“You  bet  they  have — and  they  are  going  to 
have  more.  The  delegates  will  come  up  here  un- 
instructed Monday,  and  I am  going  into  that 
convention  to  down  this  saintly  foolishness. 
Sober  or  drunk,  solvent  or  broke,  capable  or  not, 
I am  for  Cowan — and  he’ll  be  nominated,  too. 
Mark  what  I tell  you.” 

“ I have  a great  mind  to  teach  you  a lesson, 
Sautern.  You  are  getting  too  big.  What  do  you 
think  the  voters  are?” 

“Yams!”  shouted  Sautern.  “Yams — that’s 

what.  You  go  ahead  and  teach  me  a lesson. 
Just  go  ahead  and  try  it.  I dare  you,  John.  I 
dare  you.” 

Haberly  regarded  the  inflamed  face  and  bloated 
figure  before  him  in  perfect  calmness  for  a moment. 
Then  he  lifted  his  cigar  to  his  lips,  took  a long 
pull,  and  shrouded  the  big  man  in  smoke. 

“ I’ll  just  do  it,”  he  said  with  energy,  and  walked 
away  before  Sautern  came  out  of  eclipse. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


e^let’s  first  humiliation. 

Haberly  went  down  to  Ringer’s,  and  found  the 
Cowan  sentiment  even  stronger  there.  Then  he 
went  to  Steele’s.  Cowan  himself  was  there, 
although  it  was  the  smallest  politics  factory  in 
town.  The  aspirant  for  sheriff’s  honors  was  well 
dressed,  was  smoking  a good  cigar,  and  was 
entertaining  a laughing  group  with  a tremendously 
funny  account  of  how  a lot  of  Johnny  Rebs  acted 
when  they  saw  the  first  Union  army.  The 
exquisite  humor  of  his  narrative  was  seasoned — 
not  to  say  preserved — in  alcohol;  for  wine,  malt 
and  spirituous  liquors  in  quantities  less  than  a 
quart,  were  being  drunk  on  the  premises,  as  the 
license  directed,  and  all  at  his  expense. 

“ Here’s  John  Haberly,  gentlemen.  Gentlemen, 
John  Haberly — Colonel  Haberly — a hero  and  a 
scholar.  I believe  he  is  also  a good  judge  of 
liquor.  John,  what’ll  you  take.^” 

“Oh,  a little  rum  and  gum,”  said  John;  by 
which  the  bar -keeper  understood  Mr.  Haberly’s 
palate  would  be  satisfied  only  with  a delicate  mix- 


58 


AN  INDIANA  MAN 


ture  of  spirits  and  sirup.  “Here’s  to  everybody,” 
be  said,  advancing  his  glass. 

“ No,  you  don’t,”  interposed  one  of  the  hench- 
men. ‘“Here’s  to  Captain  Jim  Cowan  for  sheriff,’ 
that’s  what  you  want  to  drink  here.” 

A moment’s  pause  served  to  fix  all  eyes  on  the 
manager.  He  looked  around  upon  them  quietly, 
then  lifted  his  glass,  and  said : 

“Here’s  to  Captain  Jim  Cowan,  the  man  who,  j 
in  the  hour  of  his  nation’s  peril,  bared  his  arm  and 
presented  his  body,  a living  bulwark  against  the  ' 
advance  of  implacable  foes.  One,  two,  three, 
drink!  ” And  before  any  one  could  protest  he  had  ■ 
not  endorsed  the  Captain’s  candidacy,  twenty 
chins  were  elevated,  and  twenty  cups  were 
drained. 

“Now  one  with  me,”  added  Haberly;  “and  • 
while  Steele  is  filling  your  glasses,  boys,  I ' 
will  sing  you  one  verse  of  this  year’s  cam-  ^ 
paign  song — only  one  verse;  your  lives  shall 
be  spared.”  And  without  more  ado  he  be- 
gan: 

“When  the  sneezers  would  seize  on  the  knees  of  the  Nation, 

And  tumble  and  humble  the  whole  population, 

When  Democrats  charge  on  our  sure  nomination — 

Let  heroes  be  found  at  the  polls. 

When  rebels  and  copperheads,  secesh  and  traitors 
Are  puffing  themselves  up  with  hot-air  inflators, 

We’ll  make  them  believe  they  are  quite  small  potatoes — 

Lord!  watch  the  Republicans  roll.”  ? 


ELLETS  FIRST  HUMILIATION.  59 

Haberly  had  risen,  advanced,  swept  the  crowd 
with  his  address,  and  on  the  last  line  expended  a 
force  that  would  have  honored  heroic  measures. 
It  won  the  crowd.  They  cheered  again  and  again. 
They  laughed  uproarously,  and  called  for  more. 
The  men  at  the  pool  tables  joined  the  party,  and 
clustered  about  Haberly  with  effusive  homage. 
Captain  Jim  struggled  against  the  waves  that 
were  rising  above  him.  He  crowded  forward, 
and  beat  upon  the  bar  in  noisy  applause.  But  he 
met  Steele’s  discerning  gaze,  and  read  there  the 
fear  that  John  Haberly  had  spread  in  more  than 
one  campaign.  He  must  dislodge  this  usurper. 

“Boys,”  he  shouted,  and  the  words  rose  above  the 
clamor,  “ drink  this  toast  with  me.  ‘ Here’s  to’—” 

“No,  you  don’t,”  interrupted  Haberly.  “We 
haven’t  drank  mine  yet.  I sang  the  song  while 
Steele  was  fixing  the  liquor.  Boys,  drink  deep.” 

He  had  won  again,  and  he  covered  poor,  crest- 
fallen Cowan  with  confusion  by  exclaiming,  as  he 
set  down  his  glass : 

“Pm  for  Ellet  Grant  for  sheriff.  Some  of  you 
are  for  Jim  Cowan.  Both  are  good  men.  Let 
the  convention  choose  between  them,  and  every 
last  man  of  us  will  stand  by  the  nominee.  In  the 
meantime,  let  me  ask  one  cheer  for  Ellet  Grant, 
the  honest  farmer,  and  the  young  men’s  candi- 
date ! ” 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ Hip,  hip,  hurrah ! ” they  all  roared  together. 
Cowan  joined  in  the  shout  with  the  best  possi- 
ble grace,  and  puzzled  his  maudlin  brain  for  a 
way  to  capture  the  mastery.  It  was  no  use.  Sau- 
tern’s  defiance  and  his  own  inclination  had  led 
Haberly  to  a length  he  would  not  otherwise  have 
attempted.  He  was  no  trifler  in  politics,  and  now 
that  he  was  committed,  Cowan  saw  a very  wall 
of  adamant  against  which  he  must  dash  himself. 
Besides,  in  this  crowd  was  a number  of  men  who 
easily  remembered  that  Haberly  was  a good  em- 
ployer in  campaigns,  and  they  had  no  special 
bonds  of  union  to  hold  them  to  the  Captain.  Their 
principal  doctrine  was:  “Small  profits  from  one 

candidate,  and  quick  returns  to  another.” 

“Boys,”  pursued  the  manager,  as  the  cheer  sub- 
sided, and  before  any  one  could  deprive  him  of 
the  floor,  “boys,  did  I ever  forget  my  friends.'*” 
“You  never  did,”  shouted  a dozen  voices. 
“Then  let  me  say  no  man  ever  had  better 
friends  than  you  have  been  to  me — the  whitest  lot 
of  fellows  that  ever  wore  hair.”  He  bowed  with 
a wide,'  comprehending  gesture,  lifted  his  hat  to 
them  as  gracefully  as  though  they  had  been 
ladies,  and  left  the  place. 

“ I’ll  just  try  the  gang  at  Ringer’s  again,”  he 
said.  He  went  in,  strolled  through  the  room,  and 
heard  the  general  talk.  There  was  something  of 


ELLETS  FIRST  HUMILIATION. 


61 


weather,  something  of  current  gossip,  a little  of 
business,  and  a great  deal  of  politics. 

For  in  Indiana  the  male  adult  population  is 
reckoned  in  voters — not  in  men.  Presidential 
terms  are  olympiads,  conventions  are  amphi- 
theatres, candidates  are  gladiators,  and  tickets  are 
weapons.  The  perfection  of  rage  is  reserved  for 
those  occasions  when  opposing  parties  meet.  No 
link  is  strong  enough  to  bind  together  friends  who 
worship  at  opposing  shrines.  No  crime  is  so  dark 
that  party  fealty  may  not  atone,  and  no  life  so 
white  that  party  treachery  cannot  steep  it  in  slime 
beyond  the  cleansing  power  of  life  or  death. 

Haberly  saw  two  or  three  of  the  molders  of 
opinion.  They  had  pledged  themselves  to  no 
man,  but  were  willing  to  do  what  was  for  the 
best.  They  were  strongly  inclined,  however, 
to  indorse  Cowan  and  his  candidacy.  Haberly’s 
keen  eye  saw  that,  under  the  cloak  of  impar- 
tiality, they  all  had  their  instructions.  He  drew 
one  of  the  most  faithful  aside,  and  gave  him 
a modest  bill. 

“Buy  something  for  the  boys,” he  said,  “Dur- 
ing the  evening  you  will  hear  lots  about  Cowan 
for  sheriff.  You  get  the  fellows  to  figuring  more 
on  clerk.  See  who  says  a good  word  for  Ellet 
Grant,  and  tell  me  to-morrow.  You  will  lose 
nothing.” 


62 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Then  he  bought  a handful  of  cigars,  divided 
them  with  his  confidant,  and  went  out.  Sautern 
stood  in  his  door  as  Haberly  came  up  to  untie  his 
team.  He  was  milder  than  when  they  last  met. 

“ Still  going  to  struggle,  John?  ” he  asked. 

“I’m  after  you,  Saut.  I am,  for  a fact.”  But 
the  tone  was  less  belligerent,  was  more  hearty 
and  full  of  good  fellowship.  The  boss  concluded 
a truce  had  follpwed  close  upon  the  heels  of  a war 
declaration. 

Haberly  drove  down  street,  past  Sautern’s 
house,  where  the  ladies  were  enjoying  the  late 
evening  air.  He  managed  to  speak  to  his  horses, 
so  the  women  would  know  it  was  he.  He  went 
out  of  their  sight  in  the  direction  of  his  home; 
but  when  right  at  his  stable  door,  he  reached 
for  the  whip,  touched  his  trotters,  and  sped  out 
of  town  as  if  fate  hung  on  his  expedition. 

Three  miles  from  town  a belated  sewing 
machine  agent,  returning  from  a long  drive,  met 
him.  His  hat  was  turned  down,  his  collar  was 
turned  up,  his  ready  whip  was  hovering  over  his 
horses,  and  keeping  them  to  diligent  speed.  At 
midnight  he  reached  Wesley  Grant’s  farm.  The 
watch  dog  declined  to  admit  him  to  the  yard, 
but  consented  to  announce  his  arrival.  For  five 
minutes  the  violent  barking  of  the  dog  was  all 
the  response  he  had  elicited.  But  he  was  per- 


ELLETS  FIRST  HUMILIATION. 


63 


sistent,  and  at  length  the  front  door  opened,  and 
Ellet  Grant  appeared. 

“Who’s  there asked  the  young  farmer  from 
the  threshold. 

“ Come  here,  Ellet,”  said  Haberly. 

“Oh,  is  it  you?  What’s  up?  Wait  a minute.” 
He  withdrew,  and  shortly  came  out  more  fully 
clothed. 

“Ellet,”  said  the  manager,  “we  must  put  up 
some  money  with  the  gang,  or  you  are  beaten.” 

“Great  guns  ! John,  I can’t  do  that.  I don’t 
like  that  crowd,  and  I will  not  humor  them.  I 
do  not  believe  they  are  the  people.” 

“Look  here.  I went  into  Sautern’s  to-night, 
and  when  I mentioned  your  name,  they  scored 
you.  Sautern  himself  vows  he  will  oppose  you 
before  the  nomination,  and  knife  you  afterward. 
Cowan  and  his  gang  had  taken  Steele’s,  and  at 
Ringer’s  it  was  the  same.  They  have  spread  the 
idea  that  you  are  too  lofty.  Cowan  has  laid  down 
$ioo.  That  does  a great  deal  of  good.  If  I am 
authorized  to  do  the  same  for  you,  I can  help  you. 
If  not,  I tell  you,  honest,  you  are  gone.” 

Lllet  struggled  with  the  temptation.  He  did 
lot  want  to  be  defeated.  He  was  sure  if  they 
lid  not  use  corruption  against  him  he  was  easily 
:he  party’s  choice.  But  here  they  were  depriving 
him  of  his  rights,  and  his  very  conscientiousness 


64 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


was  the  thing  that  most  weakened  him.  His  friends 
and  relatives  in  Franklin,  in  Monroe,  in  Liberty 
and  in  Star,  had  pledged  him  their  support.  He 
would  go  into  town  with  a good  majority  of  the 
delegates.  But  Cowan  men  would  be  all  over 
the  county  to-morrow,  working  for  hire,  and 
making  their  arguments  in  cash.  Should  he 
allow  the  beggarly  minority  of  votes  that  boaster 
would  win  in  the  country  to  be  added  to  the 
purchased  influence  in  town,  and  so  defeat  him- 
self.^ Had  he  not  a right  to  checkmate  such 
brazen  infamy.^  If  Cowan’s  only  hope  were 
based  on  this  swill-fed  floating  vote,  was  it  wrong 
for  him  to  smite  that  very  vote  with  a blow  just 
hard  enough  to  eliminate  it.^  The  evils  offset, 
would  not  matters  be  in  natural  state,  and  would 
he  not  then  win  fairly.? 

“ Think  fast,  Ellet,”  said  Haberly.  “ I must 
be  in  Fayette  by  8 o’clock  in  the  morning,  and 
the  horses  must  have  a little  sleep.” 

Ellet  said  never  a word.  He  drew  a wallet 
from  his  pocket,  counted  out  a hundred  dollars,  i 
handed  them  to  Haberly,  turned  around  and  ! 
walked  into  the  house — the  most  humiliated  man 
in  Indiana. 

The  manager  took  the  funds.  “That’s  right,”  j 
he  said.  “ Good-night,  Ellet,”  and  he  turned  the  j| 
trotters  toward  home.  Right  at  the  edge  of  town 


ELLET’S  FIRST  HUMILIATION. 


65 


he  stopped  at  Turner’s  house  and  knocked  at  the 
door.  Turner  lifted  a window,  and  Haberly  saw 
a gleam  of  light  along  the  barrel  of  a gun.  Here 
ivas  a man  who  took  no  chances  on  visitors  who 
called  at  3 o’clock  in  the  morning. 

“Hello,  John,”  he  said  quietly,  putting  the  rifle 
away.  “What  do  you  want.^” 

Haberly  stepped  down  on  the  sod,  and  the  two 
men  put  their  faces  together,  one  inside  and  just 
from  his  couch,  the  other  without  and  just  from  a 
twenty  mile  drive.  The  latter  laid  a $10 
bill  on  the  window  ledge,  and  the  former 
picked  it  up  and  folded  it  into  his  palm,  not 
having  any  pocket  in  which  it  could  be  hid- 
den. 

“ Sautern  is  going  to  have  that  up-town  gang 
chosen  to-day  as  delegates  to  the  county  conven- 
tion. He  will  have  you  read  the  names  in  a mass, 
and  whatever  you  read  will  go  through  like  a 
bullet  in  butter.  Now,  I want  you  to  go  to  Saut 
in  the  morning  before  9 o’clock,  and  tell  him  I 
want  three  of  that  same  gang  chosen.  You  tell 
him  it  looks  suspicious;  you  are  afraid  I have 
fixed  them.  Then  you  get  him  to  put  Forden, 
Himes,  Bill  Brown  and  Gurnsey  on  the  list.  He 
will  do  it  if  he  thinks  I want  the  other  fellows, 
for  he  thinks  Forden  and  Brown  are  all  right,  any 
way.  Then  you  go  ahead  just  as  he  wants  you 


66 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


to  after  that,  and  elect  your  list  of  delegates. 
Do  you  understand  } ” 

“ I guess  so,”  said  Turner.  “You  want  Grant 
men,  don’t  you  ” 

“ That’s  it.” 

“ I saw  you  talking  to  Gurnsey  last  night  in  at  , 
Ringer’s.  He  seemed  to  be  for  Ellet  after  you  ; 
went  out,  and  that’s  what  made  me  think  so.”  " 
“Well,  good-night.  Turner.”  i 

“ Good-night,  John.” 

And  the  window  slid  slowly  down  on  one  of  ; 
the  faithful.  ' 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  COUNTY  CONVENTION. 

Affairs  in  town  assumed  a different  aspect. 
The  gang  at  Steele’s  was  undoubtedly  a Grant 
gang.  Ringer’s  guests  were  cold  to  Cowan,  and 
even  at  Sautern’s  the  boss  was  kept  very  busy  to 
maintain  the  semblance  of  an  unbroken  line.  Out- 
side the  saloons  money  did  not  do  much  good;  but 
talking  did.  Dodd,  the  candidate  for  clerk,  was 
an  undoubted  good  man.  He  was  better  qualified 
and  better  liked  than  any  man  who  had  asked  for 
that  office.  He  lived  in  town.  Now,  should 
they  jeopardize  his  chances  by  supporting  Cowan, 
also  from  town?  Would  they  not  better  favor 
Ellet  Grant,  and  so  win  enough  strength  in  the 
country  to  help  them  float  in  the  rest  of  the  ticket  ? 
The  Democrats  were  going  to  name  a strong  man 
for  county  attorney ; they  were  all  decided  on  the 
matter.  His  opponent  must  necessarily  come 
from  town,  as  there  were  no  lawyers  in  the  coun- 
try. Now,  three  candidates  from  town  would  be 
too  much  for  the  country  voter,  proverbially 
jealous  on  the  question  of  geography  in  politics. 


67 


68 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


How  could  Haberly  have  touched  all  these 
springs  ? How  could  he  manage  to  dispense  with 
sleep  for  days  and  nights  together?  How  could 
he  be  in  Monroe  township  at  sundown  Saturday; 
at  the  county  seat,  twelve  miles  away,  all  the 
evening;  at  Jotham  New’s,  fifteen  miles  distant,  in 
time  for  church  Sunday  morning;  in  Liberty  at 
dark,  and  then  eat  breakfast  in  Star,  ten  miles 
south?  How  could  the  very  words  into  which  he 
put  his  arguments  reappear  in  every  group  of 
freemen,  and  prevail  from  morning  till  night? 

On  Monday,  the  day  fixed  for  the  county  con- 
vention, Fairview  was  a very  busy  town.  It  was 
full  of  candidates,  and  delegates,  and  workers,  and 
pullers,  from  dawn  till  long  past  midnight.  They 
all  had  money,  and  they  all  spent  it.  A dollar 
was  worth  less  that  day  than  it  ever  would  be 
again  till  election.  No  one  was  financially  embar- 
rassed. Depleted  exchequers  had  been  filled  as  if 
by  fiat,  and  men  who  had  owed  meat  bills  for 
months  smoked  more  costly  cigars  than  the 
butcher  could  buy. 

Yet  merchants  did  not  do  much  business.  It 
was  .a  man  crowd — not  a woman  crowd;  dry 
goods  languished.  It  was  a drinking  crowd — not 
an  eating  crowd;  groceries  were  a drug  on  the 
market.  It  was  a talking  crowd  — not  a working 
crowd ; very  little  hardware  was  sold.  But  it  took 


THE  COUNTY  CONVENTION. 


69 


three  men  to  serve  the  patrons  at  Sautern’s,  and 
three  at  Ringer’s,  and  three  at  Steele’s — and  all 
nine  were  wearier  than  the  muses  when  Greece 
was  greatest. 

The  court-room  had  been  crowded  for  an  hour. 
The  chairman  of  the  County  Central  Committee 
called  the  convention  to  order,  and  officers  were 
elected.  A few  speeches  had  been  made  by  the 
orators  of  the  party.  It  was  observed  that  old 
Wesley  Grant  was  a delegate  from  Greene  town- 
ship. Sautern  was  not  a delegate,  but  he  sat 
behind  Mr.  Turner,  who  was.  He  sat  where  he 
could  watch  Charley,  the  worker,  and  F orden,  and 
Himes,  and  Bill  Brown,  and  Gurnsey.  He 
chuckled  when  he  thought  how  he  had  outwitted 
John  Haberly. 

“He  was  going  to  teach  me  a lesson,”  muttered 
the  saloon  keeper.  “He  would  just  about  have 
done  it,  too,  if  Turner  hadn’t  come  to  me  Satur- 
day morning,  and  had  me  knock  off  them  fellers 
from  the  north  end  of  towm.  I thought  sure  they 
was  all  right  till  Turner  told  me  Haberly  wanted 
them.  I wonder  how  much  he  paid  them.  Well, 
he  don’t  use  them  in  this  convention — in  some 
other  convention,  mebby.” 

Then  he  launched  his  first  shaft. 

“Mr.  President,”  said  Mr.  Turner,  rising  to 
prove  his  loyalt}'^  to  Sautern,  “ I move  that  the 


70 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


delegates  here  assembled  do  now  pledge  themselves 
to  support  without  exception,  and  to  the  best  of 
their  ability,  every  candidate  who  may  be  nomi- 
nated here  to-day.” 

He  sat  down,  and  two  or  three  men  seconded 
the  motion  in  a perfunctory  sort  of  way.  There 
are  a good  many  men  who,  in  a meeting,  would 
second  a motion  to  decapitate  each  member  of 
the  assembly,  beginning  at  once. 

Old  Wesley  Grant  got  the  eye  of  the  chair,  and 
rose  to  oppose  the  motion. 

“ Who  ever  heard  of  delegates  pledging  them- 
selves ? ” he  asked,  smiling,  for  he  knew  his  point 
was  well  taken.  “ Candidates  sometimes  pledge 
themselves.  This  convention  will  be  the  first  ever 
heard  of  where  the  delegates  did  such  a thing.” 
“We  will  start  the  fashion,  then,”  retorted 
Turner.  Any  one.  would  have  said  he  retorted 
savagely. 

The  chairman  proceeded  to  put  the  motion, 
but  old  Wesley  opposed  it  for  another  reason, 

“ I am  opposed,  then,  on  general  grounds,  and 
should  like  an  opportunity  to  tell  why.” 

“ Mr,  President,”  shouted  Mr.  Turner,  while  a 
hub-hub  was  rising  all  over  the  room,  “ I object 
No  matter  what  may  cause  the  gentleman’s  oppo- 
sition, No  matter  what  are  his  reasons.  It  will 
do  no  good  to  air  our  grievances  here.  Let  the 


THE  COUNTY  CONVENTION.  71 

majority  rule,  and  let  wisdom  guide  our  councils.” 
“ Mr.  Grant  has  the  floor,”  said  the  chairman, 
whose  ideas  of  parliamentary  rule  were  that  this 
motion  was  open  to  debate. 

“ I oppose  the  motion,  and  want  the  delegates 
here  to  know  the  reason  why.” 

“I  object  to  knowing  the  reason  why,  Mr. 
Chairman,”  interposed  Bill  Brown,  from  another 
part  of  the  house.  “ Let  him  agree  to  abide  the 
will  of  the  convention,  or  withdraw  now.” 

The  chair  had  a revelation  from  the  direction  of 
Sam  Sautern. 

“ The  chair  sustains  the  objection.  The  motion 
has  carried,  and  Mr.  Grant  must  either  abide  the 
action  of  the  party  delegates,  or  withdraw  and  give 
! way  to  some  other  man  who  will.” 

“ Then  I withdraw  now,”  said  the  old  man, 

; sturdily.  “ I am  not  going  to  indorse  in  advance 
all  the  foolishness  you  may  be  guilty  of  here 
to-day.” 

Greene  township  called  Mr.  Grant’s  alternate 
into  the  vacancy,  and  the  business  of  the  convention 
proceeded.  Wesley  sat  down  outside  the  close 
reserved  for  delegates.  Sautern  turned  upon  him 
a look  of  triumph,  which  was  met  with  the  calm 
gaze  of  a man  who  could  wait.  Lawyer  Poole 
got  up  and  came  over  to  the  farmer.  Himself  a 
candidate  for  re-election  to  the  office  of  prosecutor, 


72 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


he  believed  all  his  hopes  hinged  on  the  nod  and 
beck  of  Sautern.  He  had  received  his  commands? 
and  proceeded  to  obey  them. 

“You  see  we  have  got  you  down,  Wesley,”  he 
said.  “It  won’t  do  for  anyone  to  cut  Sautern  and 
these  fellows.  He  can  beat  Ellet  for  sheriff. 
This  little  incident  ought  to  prove  that  to  you. 
Do  you  want  to  see  the  boy  beaten.^  ” 

“No.” 

“ Then  will  you  come  down  with  a hundred,  to 
be  used  by  his  friends.^  ” 

“ I will  not.” 

“ He  will  be  beaten.” 

“ Let  him.” 

Poole  sat  there  a while  longer,  watching  the 
convention,  but  wondering  how  this  castle  was.  to 
be  reduced.  Presently  he  put  his  lips  near  the 
old  man’s  face,  and  said  : 

“Wesley,  I want  to  see  Ellet  nominated.”  Spite 
of  his  thralldom  to  the  ring,  this  was  very  true,  as 
it  increased  his  own  chances,  by  reducing  the  num. 
ber  of  candidates  in  town.  “You  ought  to  be 
willing  to  do  something  for  }’our  son.  Everybody 
does  it.  Don’t  see  the  boy  slaughtered  here 
to-day.  It  will  ruin  him.” 

“I  will  not  give  one  dollar  for  corruption.” 
“Will  you  lend  Steele  a hundred  to-day.^  He 
needs  it,  and  he  is  good.” 


THE  COUNTY  CONVENTION. 


73 


“ Oh,  no,  Poole.  That  is  the  same  thing.  I 
won’t  do  it.” 

“Will  you  go  on  Ringer’s  license  bond.^  His 
year  is  about  up,  and  a little  service  like  that  will 
not  hurt  you  any,  and  it  will  make  both  you  and 
Ellet  lots  of  friends.” 

The  old  man  waited  a moment,  and  then  said 
“ No,”  with  great  decision.  Clearly,  he  had  not 
weakened.  Poole  returned  to  his  seat  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  house.  Charley,  the  worker, 
the  organizer  of  campaign  clubs,  glided  through 
the  crowd  from  his  seat  near  Ellet  Grant,  and 
put  his  frowsy  head  between  Sautern  and  Turner. 
After  a moment  he  stood  up  straight,  as  one  who 
had  saved  his  country.  Then  he  moved  over  to 
Wesley  Grant.  It  seemed  that  a message  had 
come  to  father  from  son  through  a very  devious 
channel.  The  sturdy  old  farmer  sat  quite  still 
while  Charley  poured  a flood  of  argument,  stained 
with  unsavory  odors,  before  him.  But  he  de- 
clined to  soften,  even  to  the  persuasive  eloquence 
of  the  hustler. 

Sims,  the  committee  man,  was  on  his  feet.  He 
moved  that  they  proceed  with  the  nomina- 
tions in  the  following  order:  Sheriff,  clerk, 
prosecutor,  and  recorder.  Bill  Brown  seconded 
the  motion,  but  one  of  the  Dodd  delegates 
opposed  it. 


74 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ I am  in  favor  of  following  the  order  observed 
in  the  committee’s  call  for  a convention — clerk, 
sheriff,  prosecutor  and  recorder.”  And  the  ma- 
jority seemed  to  be  with  him.  Their  success 
meant  the  nomination  of  Dodd  for  clerk.  He 
being  from  town  would  lessen  Cowan’s  chances, 
for  some  of  the  nominees  must  come  from  the 
country.  Sautern  could  not  use  Poole  in  this 
matter,  for  Poole  was  in  favor  of  the  movement. 
The  chairman  had  risen,  and  was  stating  the 
motion.  Sautern  caught  Charley’s  eye,  and  shook 
his  head  vigorously.  The  organizer  understood, 
and  was  on  his  feet  in  a moment. 

“Mr.  Chairman,  and  gentlemen,”  he  said,  with 
great  vigor,  and  with  that  assumption  of  virtue 
surprised  which  always  attracts  attention.  “ The 
motion  is  to  adopt  the  order  suggested  by  our 
honorable  committeeman,  and  a good  many  gentle- 
men seem  inclined  to  oppose  it,  and  to  favor  the 
order  adopted  in  the  call.  I am  inclined  to  be 
guided  in  this  matter  by  the  will  and  the  judg- 
ment of  the  honorable  gentlemen  who  are  charged 
with  the  duty  of  managing  the  party’s  affairs, 
and  if  the  honorable  gentlemen  representing  the 
political  conduct  of  the  campaign  in  this  matter 
think  it  is  better  for  any  reason  to  pursue  a 
certain  order,  I am  the  last  man  in  the  county  to 
oppose  them.  But  we  must  not  do  things  here  as 


THE  COUNTY  CONVENTION. 


75 


they  do  in  the  South.  What  we  want  here  is 
harmony — harmony  in  the  convention,  harmony 
on  the  street,  and  harmony  at  the  polls.  To 
secure  harmony  we  must  be  guided  in  a certain 
degree  by  the  wisdom  of  the  honorable  gentle- 
men who  give  their  time  and  attention  to  the 
conduct  of  our  political  affairs.  This  is  not 
Mississippi,  nor  yet  Florida,  and  we  must  in  a 
certain  measure  be  guided  by  the  counsels  of  the 
jhonorable  gentlemen — ” 

And  so  on  for  the  four  or  five  minutes  required 
to  notify  the  whippers-in  from  the  various  town- 
ships that  the  motion  must  be  carried.  An  un- 
common rustling  around  had  been  indulged,  but 
the  chairman  presently  received  permission  to 
proceed. 

Other  delegates  broke  from  restraint,  and 
opposed  the  motion.  It  was  with  difficulty  the 
debate  could  be  stopped.  The  men  did  not  take 
kindly  to  gagging.  Somehow,  Sautern  felt  a 
breeze  of  mutiny  in  the  room.  To  his  astonish- 
ment, the  motion  was  undoubtedly  lost,  in  the 
viva  voce  vote. 

“I  demand  a rising  vote,”  shouted  Charley, 
who  knew  the  advantage  of  that  method.  Many 
a delegate  was  willing  to  sit  still  and  shout  “ No  ” 
when  ordered  to  shout  “Aye,”  and  yet  object 
seriously  to  standing  up  and  letting  Sautern’s  eye 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


n 

range  over  the  room,  marking  culprits  for  future 
punishment.  The  boss  nodded  his  head  in  ap- 
proval at  the  worker. 

“ All  in  favor  of  the  motion  will  rise  to  their 
feet,”  said  the  chairman,  and  every  man  the 
machine  could  summon  stood  up  in  an  instant, 
visibly  lifting  up  his  neighbors. 

“All  opposed,”  said  the  chairman,  when  the 
affirmative  vote  was  counted.  The  motion  was 
lost. 

“I  move,”  said  the  Dodd  delegate,  before 
Sautern’s  men  could  rally,  “ that  we  proceed  to 
the  nomination  in  the  order  published  in  the 
committee’s  call — clerk,  sheriff,  prosecutor  and 
recorder.” 

A score  of  seconds  showed  the  tide  was  flow- 
ing now,  and  in  the  least  possible  time  a favorable 
vote  was  recorded.  Cowan  was  intensely  angry, 
but  he  still  hoped  he  might  throw  his  strength 
to  Baker,  an  out-of-town  candidate  for  clerk,  and 
so  defeat  Dodd.  Sautern’s  emissaries  were  busy. 

“We’ll  help  nominate  Baker  for  clerk,  if  you 
will  help  nominate  Cowan  for  sheriff,”  they  said, 
and  in  the  confusion  which  preceded  the  taking 
of  a vote  it  seemed  the  trade  was  arranged.  But 
surely  the  convention  was  tired  of  dictation.  It 
was  slipping  out  of  the  hands  that  had  so  often 
guided  it.  While  the  delegates  were  willing  to 


THE  COUNTY  CONVENTION. 


77 


be  bound  by  the  general  action,  they  themselves 
wanted  to  say  what  that  action  should  be.  They 
did  not  approve  the  rude  manner  in  which  sturdy, 
honest  old  Wesley  Grant  had  been  expelled.  It 
was  enough  for  some  of  them  to  know  that  the 
same  influence  that  had  ousted  him  now  de- 
manded Dodd’s  extinction;  and  they  were  minded 
to  oppose  it. 

The  feeling  for  Baker  did  not  amount  to  a 
preference,  and  so  when  the  first  ballot  had  been 
counted  it  was  found  that  Dodd  had  more  votes  than 
any  other  one  man,  though  not  enough  to  nomi- 
nate him.  The  third  aspirant  was  dropped,  and 
a new  ballot  was  prepared.  Again  the  effort  to 
nominate  Baker  was  made,  but  it  failed,  for  the 
result  showed  Dodd  the  choice  of  the  convention 
by  a good  majority. 

The  machine  had  sustained  a defeat.  Sautern 
could  not  understand  it.  What  was  the  matter 
with  those  delegates.?  Who  was  controlling 
them.?  Had  John  Haberly  made  good  his  threat 
to  teach  him  a lesson.?  Was  this  the  lesson  he 
intended  teaching.?  Why,  the  man  was  not  even 
in  the  room. 

The  struggle  for  sherifT  followed,  and  was 
spirited,  indeed.  When  Ellet  Grant  was  placed 
in  nomination  there  was  no  mistaking  the  enthusi- 
asm. He  was  an  undoubted  favorite.  Captain 


78 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


James  Cowan,  the  Honorable  James  Cowan,  Jim 
Cowan,  the  people’s  friend,  and  plain  Mr.  Cowan 
were  some  of  the  designations  applied  to  the  second 
nominee.  Two  others  followed,  but  on  the  second 
ballot  one  was  dropped;  while  Grant  led  Cowan 
by  five  votes.  Where  would  the  last  man’s 
strength  go.?  If  to  Cowan,  then  Grant  would  be 
beaten.  If  to  Grant,  then  Cowan  was  done  for. 
The  machine  revolved  with  amazing  swiftness, 
but  encountered  again  that  chilling  resistance. 
Even  the  delegates  who  owed  allegiance  to  Ringer 
and  Steele  declined  to  be  directed. 

And  on  the  third  ballot,  Ellet  had  a clear 
majority  over  all.  The  cheers  that  greeted  him 
were  gall  and  wormwood  to  the  fat  man  who  sat 
behind  impassive  Mr.  Turner.  He  stole  one 
glance  at  old  Wesley  Grant,  and  saw  a face  calm 
and  unmoved  in  the  general  rejoicing.  He  fairly 
raved  to  think  how,  as  a matter  of  course,  that 
old  man  took  triumph.  He  could  stay  to  see  no 
more.  It  was  positively  maddening.  Let  them 
run  their  convention.  He  would  show  them  yet. 
And  he  snatched  his  hat  and  bolted  from  the 
court-house — blind,  deaf  and  dumb  with  anger. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A POPULAR  CANDIDATE. 

Reaching  his  saloon,  Sautern  first  refreshed  his 
spirits,  and  then  poured  out  the  vials  of  his  wrath 
■ — at  long  range — on  the  victors.  He  would  show 
them.  Let  no  man  of  the  whole  outfit  come  into 
his  place  again,  nor  ever  ask  a favor.  He  half 
believed  even  Turner,  and  Bill  Brown,  and 
Gurnsey,  and  Forden,  and  Himes  had  been  untrue 
to  him. 

“I  am  for  Frank  Logan  for  sheriff  from  here 
on,”  he  shouted.  “ If  you  Democrats  want  an 
office  in  Fairview,  now  is  your  time.” 

But  he  had  not  yet  reached  the  depths.  When 
the  convention  adjourned,  he  learned  that  Poole 
had  been  defeated.  He  could  have  borne  that, 
for  Poole  secretly  favored  Ellet  Grant’s  nomination; 
but  he  was  defeated  by  a temperance  lawyer  from 
Hamlet,  the  second  town  in  the  county — Ezra 
Fuller,  fresh  from  college,  fresh  from  home,  fresh 
from  all  those  influences  which  were  Sautern ’s 
special  abhorrence. 

“ I’ll  beat  the  whole  ticket,”  he  vowed,  as  he 
paced  the  length  of  his  rooms,  and  made  all  his 


79 


80 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


patrons  uncomfortable.  “And  I’ll  do  more.  I 
know  every  man  who  stood  up  there  and  was 
counted  agin  Sims’  motion  to  change  the  order  of 
nominating.  I’ll  lay  for  every  man  of  them. 
They’ll  hear  from  me,  and  hear  often.” 

Right  in  the  midst  of  his  passion  the  screen 
door  opened,  and  John  Haberly  led  Ellet  Grant 
into  the  room.  Haberly ’s  whole  bearing  was  that 
of  a man  who  had  never  heard  news,  either  good  = 
or  bad;  a man  who  had  never  hated,  and  had  ■ 
never  loved;  a man  who  had  no  interest  on  earth 
or  elsewhere  which  could  provoke  either  a smile  ' 
or  a sigh. 

Ellet  was  less  composed.  He  had  fought  a ! 
hard  fight,  and  had  won  a good  victory.  Still,  ■ 
he  was  not  unduly  exultant.  He  was,  indeed,  ; 
rather  nervous.  He  wanted  to  appear  strong,  yet  j 
indulgent;  to  tower  a little  above,  yet  stoop  to 
some  affiliation.  And  at  the  same  time  Ellet  ; 
Grant  both  felt  and  acted  out  of  place  in  a saloon. 

“Well,  Sautern,”  said  Haberly,  calmly,  “we 
came  in  to  congratulate  you.” 

“You  did.?”  with  intense  downward  inflection. 
“Yes.  Let  us  have  a cigar.” 

“Man  there  to  wait  on  you.”  Was  he  to  be 
softened  by  any  twenty-five  cent  purchase.?  | 

“How  do  you  like  the  ticket.?”  Before  any  J 
reply  could  come  Haberly  continued : “ This  is  1 


A POPULAR  CANDIDATE. 


81 


Ellet  Grant,  the  nominee  for  sheriff.  I don’t  think 
you  two  are  acquainted,  and  you  ought  to  be.  Mr. 
Grant  is  a devilish  good  man.”  Then  to  Ellet: 

“ Mr.  Sautern  is  one  of  the  wheel  horses  in  the 
county,  and  a gentleman  we  all  have  found  to  be 
very  agreeable.” 

Sautern  did  not  at  all  enjoy  the  situation.'  He 
shook  hands,  but  he  did  not  want  to.  He 
acknowledged  the  introduction,  but  it  would  have 
been  so  much  more  to  his  liking  to  kick  this 
precious  pair  clear  through  the  transom,  and  across 
the  street. 

But  while  he  stood  before  them,  letting  Haberly 
manage  the  conversation,  Sautern  concluded  to 
accept  this  overture  in  a friendly  spirit,  and  make 
it  the  first  of  many  visits  to  his  place.  How 
richer  than  feasts  for  hungry  men  would  be  the 
treading  on  Ellet  Grant  now!  How  sweeter  than 
honey  to  the  tongue  would  be  each  sigh  he  could 
wring  from  old  Wesley!  How  rarer  than  victory 
might  he  not  make  this  defeat ! So  he  unbent  a 
little,  jested  as  a beaten  man  may,  hoped  Ellet 
would  treasure  up  no  resentment,  and,  in  the 
rising  tide  of  fellowship,  led  them  to  the  bar. 

“Jap,  wait  on  the  gentlemen,”  he  said  to  his  ' 
chief  assistant;  and  Jap,  with  linen  a little  stained, 
and  face  a little  flushed  by  the  work  of  the  day, 
posed  as  a model  of  respectful  attention. 


82 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


He  knew  what  this  meant.  He  had  tended  bar 
since  he  was  fifteen,  and  knew  more  about  whisky 
than  the  men  who  made  it,  because  he  saw  more 
of  its  operation.  Jap  had  a theory  that  men  and 
whisky  were  both  good  enough  when  in  separate 
packages.  “ It’s  when  they  mix  that  trouble 
comes,”  he  would  say.  He  divided  all  bar-invok- 
ing politicians  into  three  classes:  “When  they 
first  get  here,  they  own  Sautern;  when  half  way 
through  the  term,  it’s  a stand-off;  when  they  go 
out  of  office,  Sautern  owns  them.” 

Yet  it  was  not  for  him  to  warn  this  man.  It 
was  not  for  him  to  say  that  a street  paved  with 
dynamite  were  safer  than  this  broad  road.  So  he 
rested  his  hands  on  the  bar,  bent  his  keen  eyes 
and  intelligent  face  toward  them,  caught  Ellet’s 
diffident,  muttered,  protesting,  “Whisky,  please;” 
read  John  Haberly’s  order  for  “the  same”  in  a 
familiar  nod,  and  then  served  them  with  the  grace 
and  deference  of  a courtier. 

Down  the  bar  was  a crowd  of  drinkers.  Most 
of  them  were  commodities  yesterday;  all  were 
gratuities  now.  For  months  their  only  value 
would  be  that  of  possible  future  use.  Yet  they 
must  be  preserved  from  any  chance  of  defection. 
They  flocked  around  Ellet  Grant,  and  showered 
congratulations  upon  him.  He  was  always  their 
choice,  and  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  them,  he  might 


A POPULAR  CANDIDATE. 


83 


have  been  beaten.  He  was  the  whitest  man  that 
ever  lived.  That  old  Jim  Cowan — who  wanted 
him.^ 

Ellet  treated  the  last  man  of  them,  and  then, 
growing  in  dignity  as  the  liquor  rose  to  his  brain, 
patronized  Sautern  a little ; praised  John  Haberly ; 
assured  them  that  he  was  all  right — every  day  in 
the  week,  and  then — treated  again,  drinking  with 
them. 

“Well,  Saut,  we  must  go,”  said  Haberly. 

“We  must  go,  gentlemen,”  said  Grant.  “ I am 
glad  to  meet  my  friends,  and  you  are  all  my 
friends,  and  I am  a friend  to  all  of  you.  I’m  all 
right  every  day  in  the  week — every  day  in  the 
week.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Sautern.  I’m  glad  to  have 
met  you.  I’ll  see  you  again.” 

Haberly  saw  how  it  was  going. 

“We  must  call  on  Ringer  and  Steele,  Ellet,” 
he  said.  “ The  boys  there  will  want  you  to  come. 
Between  you  and  me.  Ringer  and  Steele  helped 
you  to  the  nomination.  They  coppered  every 
move  Sautern  made.  Let’s  take  a little  walk 
before  we  go  in.” 

It  would  not  do  for  this  man,  whose  tongue  was 
already  loose,  whose  wit  was  already  light  with 
intoxicants,  to  go  straight  to  other  potations. 
So  they  went  to  the  mill,  and  shrewd  Haberly 
bought  some  flour  and  horse  feed.  Then  they 


84 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


came  back  up  town,  prolonging  the  triumphal 
progress  as  far  as  possible,  till  Ringer’s  place  was 
reached. 

The  candidate, was  introduced  to  Ringer  and 
his  bartenders,  and  to  the  men  who  lined  the 
drinking  trough. 

“You’re  a lucky  man,  Mr.  Grant,”  said  the 
unpolished  Mr.  Ringer. 

“So  are  we  lucky  men — to  get  so  good  a can*, 
didate,”  rejoined  Pfaberly.  ; 

“That’s  so;  that’s  so,”  assented  the  proprietor.’ 
“Best  ticket  ever  was  named  in  Fairview  County.' 
Nobody  couldn’t  beat  it.  You’ve  got  plain  sailing,; 
Mr,  Grant.” 

“With  the  continued  favor  of  my  friends,  I 
think  I have,”  said  Ellet,  whereat  John  Haberly’s; 
eyes  glistened.  It  was  a graceful,  a politic  thing) 
to  say.  ; 

“ Gentlemen,”  resumed  Ellet,  “what’ll  you  have.^; 
Give  me  some  of  the  same — I mean  a little  whisky. ' 
Some  men  don’t  know  his  friends  when  they  see 
him — I mean  some  people  are  down  on  me  because 
I am  down  on  you — I mean  some  people  are  down 
on  me.  But  I’m  all  right  ever}^  day  in  the  week 
— every  day  in  the  week.”  This  with  great  im- 
pressiveness. He  wished  them  to  understand 
lie  was  entirely  friendly,  no  matter  what  other, 
persons  had  said  about  him.  , Jl 


A POPZTLAB  CANDIDATE.  85 

They  all  drank.  They  didn’t  know  what  a fine 
fellow  Ellet  Grant  was.  His  good  clothes,  his 
better  bearing,  his  known  wealth — all  these  made 
him  a friend  to  cultivate.  Add,  then,  his  newly 
discovered  convivial  character,  and  he  was  a thing 
to  awake  enthusiasm.  “ The  boys  ” were  for  him. 

Haberly  managed  to  escape  from  Ringer’s  with 
only  one  drink,  and  then  he  proposed  another 
walk,  this  time  to  the  foundry,  at  the  farther  end 
of  town.  He  went  in  and  made  a pretense  of 
transacting  some  business,  leaving  his  protege  at 
the  door.  Ellet  stood  there,  steadying  himself 
against  the  bench,  and  trying  to  read  the  scrawled 
records  on  the  wall. 

“First  snow,  Nov.  i,  1878. 

“ First  snow,  Oct.  24,  1879. 

“First  snow,  Oct.  2,  1880.” 

Evidently  the  world  was  getting  colder. 

Presently  Haberly  led  him  away,  and  they 
stopped  at  Steele’s.  When  they  emerged  Ellet 
needed  a bridle  on  his  lips  as  he  had  never  before 
needed  one. 

But  “the  boys”  were  all  solid.  That  was  the 
one  desideratum. 

At  sundown  he  climbed  into  the  buggy  beside 
his  father,  and  drove  home.  At  the  very  start  he 
noticed,  thick  as  were  his  senses,  that  Wesley 
Grant  was  silent. 


86 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“Meanest  thing  I ever  saw,  father,”  he  said; 
“putting  you  out  of  the  convention.  But  it  didn’t 
do  ’em  any  good.  W^e  beat  ’em.  W^e  beat  the 
whole  outfit;  and  we  can  do  it  again,  any  day  in 
the  week — ^any  day  in  the  week.  They  were 
down  on  you  because  you  beat  Beal  two  years 
ago.  But  they  didn’t  dare  say  a word  against 
you  in  my  hearing.  No,  not  a man  of  ’em  didn  t. 
I’d  have  choked  the  first  one  that  dared  say  a 
word.  I’d  stand  by  my  father  every  day  in  the 
week.” 

Why,  what  load  is  that  on  Wesley  Grant’s  old 
heart.?  What  fury  is  it  that  looms  before,  and 
throws  a shadow  over  him.?  What  fate  is  this 
that  whets  a knife  in  his  hearing.?  How  keener 
his  agony  as  he  reaches  home ; how  he  shuns  their 
eyes  that  watch  his  coming  from  the  porch;  how 
with  unused  cunning  he  turns  his  son  into  the  barn' 

“ Ellet,  let’s  wash  before  we  go  to  the  house,’: 
he  says.  “Your  face  looks  as  if  you  had  been 
threshing,  and  mine  feels  as  if  I had  been  threshed.” 

He  pumps  a great  pail  of  water,  and  Ellet,  saner 
now  for  the  long  ride,  plunges  in  his  hands,  and| 
laves  his  face,  his  neck,  his  head,  with  the  grateful 
liquid;  then  puts  his  hand  across  the  spout,  and; 
drinks  a huge  draught.  He  rises  refreshed,  and 
dries  his  hands  on  the  linen  lap-robe.  He  notes 
with  pain  his  father  has  not  washed. 


A POPULAR  CANDIDATE. 


87 


“He  didn’t  need  it,”  muses  the  young  man. 

“Cattle  all  fed.^”  asks  the  farmer  of  his  man. 
“Better  keep  the  horses  up  to-night;  it  looks  like 
rain.  Ellet,  you  run  the  buggy  in  the  shed,  and 
help  Jim  off  with  the  wagon  box.  He  will  want 
to  haul  rails  from  the  middle  fence  to-morrow,  if 
the  weather  lets  him.” 

And  so,  with  commonplace  commands  and  well- 
used  habit  he  smooths  the  way  to  the  family.  But 
when  his  wife  first  meets  him,  her  eyes  are  full — 
are  blazing — with  one  question.  He  cannot 
answer  it,  yet  in  that  inability  her  sinking  heart 
reads  all  the  truth. 

What  is  it  to  father  and  mother  that  Ellet  will 
be  sheriff  of  Fairview  County.?  Ellet  has  come 
home  steeped  in  liquor.  That  would  pall  any 
glory. 

The  girls  do  not  read  the  truth  so  darkly.  To 
them,  the  victory  is  a victory.  The  misstep  is 
quite  apart  from  that.  The  facts  do  not  need  to 
dwell  together.  Esther  is  jubilant,  and  wants  to 
know  all  about  it.  Yet  she  cannot  understand 
when  he  tells  her,  and  flies  from  details  to  general 
result.  Ellet  says  good  words  for  Haberly,  and 
does  not  see  that  this  is  music  to  her  ears.  He 
would  have  lost  only  for  Haberly.  That  man  is 
a genius,  a trump,  a — a — a — words  fail  to  dignify 
him.  Esther  vows  another  feast  to  the  deity  of 


88 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


conventions,  and  Alice  runs  to  the  piano,  and  pours 
her  pleasure  over  the  yielding  keys. 

Ellet  is  weary.  He  has  been  up  till  midnight 
and  later  every  day  for  weeks.  He  had  ridden  at 
all  hours,  and  slept  in  all  places.  He  will  go  to 
bed.  So,  after  the  lightest  of  suppers,  he  leaves 
them,  and  is  instantly  lost  in  the  utter  exhaustion 
that  follows  excess. 


, CHAPTER  XL 


A SUNDAY  AT  THE  FARM. 

Pretty  Lake  Church  was  the  pride  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, At  its  sacred  desk  services  had  been 
held  every  Sunday  afternoon  for  many  years. 
The  rich  farms  all  around  it  produced  the  maxi- 
mum of  a wide  range  of  crops;  but  the  spirit  of 
peace,  order  and  sobriety  was  the  rarest  yield. 
This  found  its  expression  in  a sort  of  fraternity 
that  bound  all  the  farmers  together  in  bonds  that 
only  come  with  time  and  modest  prosperity;  in 
the  courtesy  that  each  one  extended  to  the  others, 
and  in  the  gentle  emulation  which  made  comely 
appearance  and  decorous  behavior  the  eharacteris- 
tics  of  Pretty  Lake  people.  The  preacher  to 
whom  they  listened  once  a week  lived  on  the 
shores  of  the  lake,  worked  a little  in  his  vineyard 
every  day,  and  preached  the  truth  undefiled, 
without  either  cursing  Dives  or  canonizing  Laza- 
rus. A very  modest  theology  was  good  enough 
for  simple  men,  and  beyond  the  staunch  old  tenets 
of  entrance  by  faith  and  tenure  by  works,  he  sel- 
dom led  his  people. 


90 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


His  hands  had  once  been  supple  and  strong; 
they  were  weak  and  trembling  now.  His  hair 
had  once  been  as  dark  as  night ; it  was  white  now. 
He  had  lifted  the  children  of  his  flock  to  their 
christenings  years  ago;  had  spread  his  palms  in 
blessing  above  them  when  they  were  married,  and 
now  rested  content  in  the  fellowship  of  those  who 
had  known  him  forty  years,  and  loved  him  all  the 
time. 

Ellet  Grant  with  his  sisters  had  attended  morn- 
ing service  in  town  these  later  years,  but  had 
never  for  one  day  deserted  the  homelier  sanctuary 
by  the  lake.  They  were  under  no  compulsion 
but  that  of  love,  and  it  was  always  strong  enough 
to  place  them  side  by  side  with  those  who  had 
known  their  lives,  and  to  keep  them  there, 
honored,  and  honoring  all  with  whom  they 
mingled. 

John  Haberly  drove  out  the  Sunday  afternoon 
following  the  convention.  He  was  clad  in  the 
best  of  clothes,  and  was  not  unworthily  proud  of 
his  team  and  carriage.  One  of  his  sisters  accom- 
panied him,  and  they  two  went  home  with  Wesley 
Grant’s  family  for  dinner. 

Oh,  the  farm-house  meal  of  Sunday  afternoon! 
What  genius  helps  to  make  it.?  What  pleasures 
for  epicures  are  here!  Who  taught  the  aged 
hands  of  mother  and  the  gentle  hands  of  daugh- 


A SUNDAY  AT  THE  FABM. ' 


91 


ters  to  concoct  its  sweets?  What  fairy  of  the 
hours  tossed  it  to  completion  so  quickly?  What 
gods  of  grace  and  beauty  instructed  its  arrange- 
ment, and  made  that  table  fit  banquet  place  for 
kings  ? Poultry  grown  plethoric  in  the  abundance 
of  waste,  fried  to  a turn  and  crisping  in  crumbs; 
potatoes  as  smooth  and  as  savory  as  ices;  bread 
that  rivals  the  pastry  of  towns;  butter  so  sweet, 
cream  so  rich,  milk  so  refreshing  that  gardens  of 
Eden  could  not  have  excelled!  Then  the  honey, 
fragrant  with  all  the  blossoming  sweets  of  forest 
and  field;  the  fruit  that  was  gathered  in  season; 
the  pies  and  the  cake — those  classics  of  a cook’s 
senior  year!  And  the  brimming  abundance  of  it 
all.  Let  no  man  think  he  has  lived  till  he  pass  that 
flood-mark  of  life — the  farm-house  Sunday  dinner 

When  sated  feasters  had  drawn  back,  Ellet 
and  John  Haberly  went  with  Wesley  Grant  to  the 
broad  porch,  while  the  women  gave  that  rare 
time  just  after  dinner  to  social  service.  An  hour 
later,  the  whole  great  house  tidy  from  garret  to 
cellar,  they  joined  the  men,  talking  and  watching 
the  shadows  drift  eastward. 

“ Did  you  ever  take  a Sunday  evening  walk  in 
the  woods  ? ” asked  Ellet  of  his  friend.  Haberly 
never  had,  and  confessed  a strong  desire  to  do  so. 

“Will  you  go  with  us,  father?”  asked  Esther, 
pinning  on  her  hat. 


92 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ No,  mother  and  I will  take  our  walk  later.” 
Down  the  broad  lane,  between  the  fields  where 
busy  nature  was  building  for  future  harvests; 
through  the  woods  where  soil  and  stones  had  lain 
unturned  for  ages,  not  troubled  by  the  hungry 
haste  of  man;  past  lady  ferns,  rank  and  beautiful; 
by  sweet  briars  that  filled  the  aisles  of  the  forest 
with  perfume;  over  a carpet  of  yielding  moss  and 
violets,  to  the  edge  of  the  wintergreen  patch. 
Just  over  there,  where  the  spongy  ground  forbade 
their  footsteps,  acres  of  whortleberries  hung  ripe 
in  the  hot  air.  Beyond  them,  hiding  their  rubies 
in  the  tangled  vines,  were  store  of  cranberries, 
waiting  the  chill  of  winter,  when  they  might 
sharpen  thankfulness.  Above  the  group  of  young 
people  spread  the  branches  of  oak  trees,  lifting 
good  broad  leaves  as  the  royal  winds  approached 
them,  lowering  in  musical  obeisance  as  the  breeze 
passed  by. 

Esther  and  John  Haberly  were  a little  way 
from  the  others. 

“Tell  me  about  the  convention,”  she  said. 
“ Ellet  thinks  you  managed  everything.” 

“ There  isn’t  much  to  tell.  The  chairman 
hammered  on  the  desk  at  lo  o’clock,  and  read 
the  call  of  the  County  Central  Committee — ” 
“Oh,  I don’t  mean  that.  One  can  read  all 
that  in  the  Republican.  How  did  you  get  him 


A SUNDAY  AT  THE  FAEM. 


93 


the  nomination,  when  what  you  call  the  machine 
was  against  you?” 

“Well,  the  machine  isn’t  supposed  to  be  either 
for  or  against  any  one  until  after  the  convention. 
Then  it  is  for  the  nominee,  and  against  every  one 
else.” 

“ But  Mr.  Sautern  said  he  would  beat  Ellet, 
didn’t  he  ? ” 

“ Not  Mr.  Sautern,  Esther,”  with  emphasis  on 
the  title.  “Sautern — just  plain,  simple  Sautern, 
the  saloon  keeper — did  swear  that  he  would  oppose 
Ellet,  and  that  no  man  could  get  the  nomination 
who  did  not  first  see  him  and  fix  things  up.” 

“ Then  how  did  you  succeed?  ” 

“I  don’t  think  you  want  to  know.” 

“ But  I do — very  much.  The  man’s  insolence 
was  so  unbearable.” 

“Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I beat  him  with 
his  own  weapons.  I know  more  people,  and  have 
more  friends  than  he  has.  It  took  some  money 
and  some  night  riding,  but  the  very  men  he 
depended  on  were  the  very  ones  I used.” 

“It  took  some  money — how?” 

“Well,  there  are  lots  of  fellows  who  care  only 
one  thing  for  politics.  If  they  can  get  enough  to 
drink  and  smoke  out  of  it,  they  are  satisfied. 
They  live  in  all  communities,  and  they  fairly  flock 
in  towns.  They  belong  to  all  parties,  and  are 


94 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


easiest  controlled  by  the  saloons.  The  candidate 
who  has  them  solid  can  be  nominated  and  even 
elected  against  any  man.” 

“ But  you  are  not  a saloon  keeper,  and  Sautern, 
as  you  call  him,  is.  How  did  you  manage  to  use 
his  own  forces.^” 

“By  getting  the  gangs  of  other  saloons  to 
oppose  the  gang  in  his  saloon.  Usually  they  all 
go  together,  but  this  time  I got  them  divided. 
All  the  mischief  that  Sautern  did  was  checkmated 
by  the  cussedness  of  some  other  fellow;  so  the 
whole  fight  was  left,  finally,  for  decent  men  to 
settle.  More  decent  men  supported  Ellet  than 
any  other  candidate,  and  so  he  was  chosen.” 
“Divide  and  conquer,”  mused  Esther.  But  she 
was  not  thinking  of  that.  She  was  trying  to 
reconcile  herself  to  what  seemed  very  wrong.  A 
moment  later  she  said:  “But  it  took  money,  and 
a use  of  the  saloons.” 

“ Only  to  the  extent  I say.  I let  one  saloon 
counteract  another  saloon,  and  then  the  people 
settled  the  matter  as  they  wanted  it.  If  I had  not 
done  so,  Sautern  would  have  beaten  a good  man 
simply  because  he  was  good.” 

She  pondered  that  awhile,  and  then  she  said: 
“ I am  glad  you  did  it.  I am  very  glad  you  did  it.” 
“So  am  I,”  was  the  response,  and  in  the  three 
words  was  bound  up  no  little  of  self  gratulation. 


A SUNDAY  AT  THE  FABM. 


95 


She  saw  this,  recognized  his  claim  upon  her,  and 
tried  to  thank  him  in  words — but  words  were  so 
empty.  He  looked  in  her  eyes,  brigTit  with  her 
praises,  and  found  more  payment  than  volumes 
could  have  held. 

They  all  strolled  back  to  the  house,  the  girls 
with  trailing  grasses  and  scimeter  blades  of  giant 
ferns;  with  a wealth  of  wood  flowers,  and  the 
scent  of  unturned  earth  upon  them.  The  sun  was 
low,  and  Wesley  Grant  and  his  wife  were  com- 
pleting their  weekly  tour.  The  young  people* 
gained  the  house  first,  and  filled  the  listening 
rooms  with  .happy  music.  An  hour  passed,  and 
the  cord  that  tethered  Esther’s  heart  to  Haberly 
was  strengthened.  His  chief  distinction  in  the 
county  had  been  won  by  methods  decidedly  shady, 
yet  one  forgot  all  the  bad  one  heard  of  him  when 
he  stood  so  easily  before  the  world,  and  asked  no 
favors.  His  presence  was  marked  by  a certain 
polish,  his  bearing  was  always  calm  and  collected, 
and  his  simplest  actions  were  so  plainly  those  of  a 
man  who  never  struggled,  yet  always  won. 

He  was  a hero  to  her;  and  yet,  in  confessing 
that,  she  hushed  a conscience-uttered  protest,  and 
hurried  the  rising  tide  of  feeling  that  rolled  about 
his  image  in  her  memory.  She  must  be  kind  to 
him.  Had  he  not  helped  her  brother.^ 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  RALLY. 

The  weeks  that  followed  were  full  enough  of 
work  at  the  farm,  and  politics  was  allowed  to 
drift  without  special  guidance  until  in  August, 
when  Ellet  took  the  side-bar  buggy,  and  started 
on  his  tour  about  the  county.  National,  State  and 
local  issues  were  to  be  decided.  Meetings  were 
held  almost  nightly  in  some  of  the  townships,  and 
at  many  of  these  Ellet  was  present.  He  was  no 
speaker,  but  his  simple  directness  when  called 
upon  to  address  the  voters  had  a good  effect. 

“ They  think  you  are  a sort  of  ideal  candidate,” 
John  Haberly  had  said. 

“ I hope  at  the  end  of  my  service  they  will  say 
L have  been  an  ideal  sheriff,”  responded  the  young 
man,  and  Haberly,  who  was  much  in  demand  at 
meetings,  repeated  the  sentiment  when  he  came 
to  extol  his  friend.  It  was  a good  thing  to  say. 

The  Republicans  had  a grand  rally  in  Fair- 
view  at  the  end  of  August,  and  all  the  candidates 
regarded  it  as  sunshine  in  which  they  were  wise 
to  make  hay.  Great,  flaring  posters  stood  dis- 


96 


THE  RALLY. 


97 


played  at  every  point  of  vantage  in  the  county. 
The  Republican  had  filled  its  columns  for  weeks 
with  laudatory  lines  for  the  principal  speakers.  A 
great  booth  had  been  erected  in  the  court-house 
square,  and  a wide  space  in  front  was  occupied 
with  rough  seats,  in  the  shade  of  those  trees 
which  were  the  chief  glory  of  the  county  town. 

The  candidate  for  governor  was  himself  to 
address  the  people,  and  in  the  earliest  morning 
hours  the  place  took  on  the  airs  of  preparation. 
Flags  were  flying;  bunting  fluttered  from  the 
awnings ; lithograph  portraits  of  the  leaders  were 
on  view.  The  streets  were  clean.  Boxes  and 
barrels  were  arranged  in  order;  merchandise  was 
dusted  and  heaped  ready  to  hand;  men  wore 
better  clothes  than  on  common  days. 

At  9 o’clock  the  “ grand  marshal  ” rode  down 
the  street,  at  the  head  of  a number  of  aides ; each 
wore  a sash  about  his  waist,  and  a cockade  in  his 
hat.  All  were  emulous  of  military  grandeur, 
though  none  appeared  majestic.  The  delegation 
from  Fayette  township  was  first  to  arrive,  and 
the  commandant  sent  an  order  to  halt  it  at  the 
edge  of  town  until  others  should  come.  By  lo 
o’clock  all  were  ready,  and  then  the  grand  parade 
began. 

The  cornet  band  marched  bravely  down  the 
street,  blatant  with  martial  airs.  Behind  it  came 


98 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


the  county  magnates,  with  the  “ Governor  ” in  a 
carriage.  For  in  Indiana  a candidate  for  guber- 
natorial honors  is  dignified  with  his  coveted  title 
long  before  election.  It  would  be  treason,  disloy- 
alty, an  expression  of  doubt,  to  do  otherwise. 
Distinguished  guests  from  neighboring  towns 
occupied  other  carriages,  and  then  came  the 
masterpiece  of  the  day.  A mammoth  Ship  of 
State  had  been  launched  on  the  waves  of  partisan 
enthusiasm,  and  rigged  with  partisan  mottoes.  It 
was  guided  by  a Jehu  who  would  have  disdained 
recognition  from  his  fellows  of  yesterday  unless 
they  subscribed  to  his  partisan  views;  and  from 
stem  to  stern  the  craft  was  guiltless  of  any  work- 
manship save  that  of  partisans. 

But  it  was  not  its  hull  or  rigging,  its  spars  or 
its  motive  power  which  glorified  the  Ship  of  State. 
The  passengers  who  crowded  its  deck  made  its 
chief  adornment.  Thirty-eight  girls,  each  typi- 
fying a State  in  the  Union,  and  all  crowned  with 
tinsel  and  gold,  waved  partisan  fans,  shaded  them- 
selves with  partisan  parasols,  and  all  together 
sang  partisan  songs.  The  Ship  of  State  was 
cheered  to  the  echo. 

Far  down  the  street  the  long  procession 
unrolled  from  the  rendezvous,  and  trailed  past  the 
public  reviewing  stand,  where  the  Governor, 
whose  carriage  had  been  driven  from  the  line. 


THE  BALLY. 


99 


stood  in  the  throng  of  notables,  and  gazed  with 
great  admiration  on  the  assembled  proof  of  fealty. 
Then  the  men  who  had  counted  fell  to  disputing 
as  to  the  number  of  vehicles,  and  the  length  of 
time  occupied  by  the  procession  in  passing  a given 
point. 

After  dinner  the  crowds  gathered  again  at  the 
court-house,  the  Ship  of  State  was  anchored  in  the 
shade,  and  the  Governor  was  introduced  to  a 
host  of  admirers.  He  was  a good  speaker,  loud 
with  the  frailties  of  his  enemies,  and  sounding 
with  the  virtues  of  his  friends.  He  was  apt  at 
illustration,  humorous,  strong  to  denounce,  power- 
ful to  plead.  And  when  he  had  closed  with  a 
peroration  that  attuned  his  hearers  to  serenity  in 
partisan  faith,  the  crowds  dispersed  and  flooded 
the  town  with  activity. 

Sidewalks  were  thronged,  stores  were  occupied, 
salesmen  were  struggling  to  attend  all  comers. 
Alleys,  back  streets  and  vacant  lots  were  full  of 
teams;  and  everywhere  ranged  with  tireless 
energy  the  drink-enthused  advocates  of  the  latest 
speaker.  By  sufferance  the  day  was  theirs,  as  a 
week  later  it  would  be  their  mortal  enemies’. 
They  shouted,  talked  in  roars,  sang  bits  of  songs, 
smote  comrades  with  crushing  friendship,  handled 
cigars  in  a clumsy  fashion,  and  then — drank 
again. 


100 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Decorated  dwellings  showed  the  politics  of 
households.  About  the  residences  most  elabo- 
rately, most  gorgeously  adorned,  were  all  the 
evidences  of  many  guests.  Parlors  were  thrown 
open  in  unused  splendor;  lawns  and  porticoes  were 
gay  with  chairs  that  seldom  saw  the  sun; 
there  was  a strange  air  of  activity  about  the 
kitchen,  and  feasts  were  preparing  to  befit  the  day. 
John  Haberly  found  food  for  his  cynicism  in  all 
this.  He  wanted  to  see  the  folly  from  a spec- 
tator’s standpoint.  He  took  his  team  of  trotters 
and  the  carriage,  took  Lawyer  Poole  and  the 
Grant  girls  for  a drive.  He  went  slowly  around 
the  town,  remarking  the  transient  grandeur, 
commented  on  it  in  a way  strange  to  the  ladies, 
but  not  in  a manner  to  surprise  Lawyer  Poole. 
They  bowed  to  many  and  were  gazed  after  by 
all.  This  was  John  Haberly,  the  manager  of  the 
campaign.  Such  a progress  on  such  a day  was 
treading  very  close  on  the  confines  of  greatness. 

Evening,  twilight,  darkness,  midnight,  followed 
each  other,  as  the  tides  fell,  and  at  daybreak 
Fairview  rose  dizzy  and  disliking  to  work.  The 
town  was  gorged  by  the  feast  of  yesterday.  It 
would  take  days  in  returning  to  regular  life. 
The  litter  would  stain  the  greensward  and  bye- 
places  for  weeks,  and  so  the  rally  would  pass  into 
history. 


THE  RALLY. 


101 


Ellet  Grant  was  around  town  all  day,  but  did 
not  once  touch  liquor.  He  had  spent  money  for 
his  bibulous  supporters,  but  had  managed  so 
gracefully  to  avoid  drinking  that  no  offense  was 
felt.  He  was  proud  of  his  strength,  and  prouder 
of  his  tact.  Surely  he  had  nothing  further  to 
fear  from  this  bane  of  politics.  He  had  proved 
he  could  drink  or  let  it  alone,  and  the  incident  of 
convention  time  might  never  be  repeated. 

Frank  Logan  was  making  the  race  for  sheriff 
an  exceedingly  interesting  one.  The  Democrals 
had  pinned  their  faith  to  him  as  in  all  respects  a 
fitting  opponent  of  Ellet  Grant.  He  was  particu- 
larly strong  in  the  out  townships,  and  in  none 
more  so  than  Franklin.  The  Republican  nominee 
took  a run  down  there,  and  spent  the  night  with 
Dave  Edwards  and  his  boys.  The  four  voters  in 
the  family  were  solid  for  Ellet,  and  gave  rather 
bright  reports  of  his  standing  in  the  township. 

“But  I learn  Frank  Logan  has  a strong  pull 
down  here,  and  I am  afraid  he  will  change  some 
of  your  friends  before  election,”  said  Ellet. 

“Now  don’t  balk  before  you  come  to  the  hill,” 
said  philosophical  old  David.  “We  will  take  care 
of  Franklin,  and  it  won’t  cost  you  no  money, 
neither.  Everybody  won’t  vote  for  you,  but  you’ll 
get  a bigger  majority  than  any  man  on  the  ticket. 
Folks  down  here  recollects  that  you  always 


102 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


attended  their  spelling  schools  and  things,  even 
before  you  was  a candidate.” 

Ellet  complimented  the  supper.  He  sat  with  the 
boys,  and  told  them  some  stories  he  had  lately 
learned.  They  laughed  immoderately,  and  waited 
for  more.  He  ranked  above  them;  both  he  and 
they  saw  that.  He  was  stirred  to  talk  well. 
They  respected  him  for  his  quick  wit,  his  evident 
equality  with  the  “big  bugs  in  town,”  his  kindly 
manners,  that  could  surely  grow  in  no  meaner 
field  than  a man’s  true  heart.  He  drew  them 
after  him  to  a talk  with  Uncle  David,  on  affairs 
by  no  means  touching  elections.  He  paid  gentle 
deference  to  the  farmer’s  wife,  and  retired  at  last 
with  the  assurance  that  the  whole  family  would 
make  his  cause  their  own. 

He  visited  a dozen  places  in  the  township  the 
next  day,  wearing  an  air  of  easy  confidence,  yet 
binding  the  voters  to  him  in  an  obligation  which 
was  not  less  effective  because  unexpressed  in 
words.  He  prolonged  the  tour,  and  saw  the 
faithful  over  in  Liberty,  and  Monroe,  and  Star. 
He  reached  home  Saturday  night,  and  found  an 
encouraging  message  from  Haberly. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


SAUTERN  DEFENDANT. 

Court  was  in  session,  and  Sautern  was  defendant 
in  a civil  suit  for  damages.  He  had  sold  liquor  to 
Matt  Tolliver,  a confirmed  drunkard,  notwith- 
standing the  legal  notification  to  desist.  Matt  was 
an  old  soldier,  a former  comrade  of  Poole,  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  and  was  a pensioner  of  the 
government.  One  day,  directly  after  drawing  his 
quarterly  allowance.  Matt  had  “just  dropped  in  at 
Sautern’s  ” to  invite  congratulations  and  to  express 
his  boundless  contempt  for  a charity  so  limited  as 
to  allow  him  but  $8  a month,  when  the  govern- 
ment could  well  afford  to  give  him  $20.  He 
found  the  proprietor  so  much  of  his  own  mind 
that  they  pledged  each  other  in  a second  bowl. 

Charley,  the  worker,  with  a scent  unerring, 
found  him  there,  after  the  fourth  potion  had  made 
him  generous,  and  became  at  once  his  guardian. 

“You  better  go  home  now.  Matt,”  Sautern  had 
said,  “and  put  up  your  money.” 

But  Matt  wanted  the  proprietor  to  keep  the 
roll;  he  wanted  Charley  to  count  it  and  turn  it 


103 


104: 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


over  to  Jap  Sweet,  the  bar-tender.  He  wanted  to 
do  as  he  pleased  with  his  own.  It  ivas  his  own, 
and  if  he  took  it  home  his  wife  would  confiscate 
it.  She  always  did.  Women  were  forever  inter- 
fering. 

Matt  did  not  go  home  to  dinner.  He  was  not 
present  there  at  supper.  At  9 o’clock  Mrs. 
Tolliver  came  for  him.  She  was  a tall,  athletic 
woman,  who  had  outlived  beauty  and  forgotten 
grace.  Adversity  had  made  her  suspicious,  and 
wrongs  had  taught  her  persistent  self-reliance. 

She  walked  straight  through  the  screen  doors, 
and  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room.  Business 
suspended  for  a time,  while  the  men  who  played 
pool  and  the  others  who  lined  the  bar  quit  their 
pastime,  and  stared  at  her  with  bright  anticipa- 
tions of  a scene.  Her  husband  was  not  in  the 
crowd. 

“Where’s  Matt?”  she  demanded. 

Sautern  waved  his  hands  at  the  four  walls, 
silently  parrying  the  question. 

“Where’s  Matt?”  she  asked  again,  a little 
sharper  than  before,  and  addressing  the  proprietor 
directly. 

“ I don’t  know,  Mrs.  Tolliver.  You  can  see  he 
is  not  here.” 

“ He  has  been  here,  and  has  been  drinking — 
hasn’t  he,  Jap?” 


SAUTERN  DEFENDANT. 


105 


But  Jap  was  deaf  to  her,  and  scrubbed  the  bar 
in  a discouraging  manner. 

“You  have  sold  him  liquor  agin  my  order. 
Now,  I want  to  know  where  he  is,  and  I’m  goin’ 
to  know.” 

She  started  through  the  crowd,  but  Sautern 
stood  between  her  and  the  back  room. 

“Now  go  away,  Mrs.  Tolliver,  and  don’t  make 
a fuss.  I tell  you  Matt  isn’t  here.  He  was  here 
this  forenoon,  and  took  a drink  with  some  man 
I don’t  know  who;  but  Matt  didn’t  buy  it;  the 
other  man  paid  for  it.  Now,  go  on  home,  and 
don’t  make  a fuss.” 

“ Go  home  and  leave  him  here  to  be  robbed.^ 
Let  me  alone!  Let  go  of  me!  Let  go  of 
me ! ” 

She  twisted  out  of  his  grasp,  dodged  past  him, 
and  threw  her  bony  figure  against  the  door.  It 
opened,  revealing  four  startled  men  around  a 
small  table.  Matt  had  a hand  full  of  cards.  The 
others  had  hands  full  of  ivory  discs.  She  marched 
straight  to  her  husband,  helped  him  to  rise,  and 
then  demanded: 

“Where’s  your  money 

“ I aint  got  no  money,  Susann.  Lost  it  on  four 
deuces.  Luck  dead  agin  me.  There’s  no  money ; 
so  go  on  home,  Susann.” 

His  comrades  in  the  game  had  vanished. 


106 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“Where’s  his  money,  Sautern?  You  give  me 
back  the  $24  he  drawed  to-day,  or  I’ll  haul  you  up. 
You  give — ” 

“Now  you  get  out — both  of  you,”  cried  the 
proprietor.  There  are  things  no  business  man 
can  stand,  and  a threat  is  one  of  them.  “ Get 
out!” 

With  much  commotion,  many  vociferous  cries, 
a deal  of  pushing  and  struggling,  the  two  are 
ejected.  A crowd  gathers  about  the  door.  The 
boys  hoot  and  follow  the  pair  home.  People  hear 
about  it  all  over  town,  and  continue  dropping  in 
at  the  refectory  to  jest,  and  take  one  drink  while 
they  talk. 

Mrs.  Tolliver  saw  Attorney  Poole  the  next 
day,  and  a suit  for  damages  was  begun.  Before 
convention  Sautern  would  have  felt  safe  enough;  : 
Poole  was  under  obligations  to  him.  But  ' 
since  the  prosecutor  had  been  sacrificed  there  was 
no  telling  what  the  attorney  might  do.  Yet  to 
wait  until  after  election,  when  that  infamous  tem- 
perance crank,  Ezra  Fuller,  was  made  prosecutor, 
would  be  worse;  for  he  would  feel  called  upon  to 
institute  criminal  proceedings  as  well.  To  win 
the  case  now  seemed  the  one  way  out. 

Sautern  called  in  John  Haberly. 

“ Can’t  you  see  the  sheriff,  and  get  the  right 
kind  of  men  on  the  jury?  ” 


SAUTERN  DEFENDANT. 


107 


“ I’ll  try,  but  a sheriff  just  going  out  of  office 
is  a mighty  unaccommodating  beast,  Saut,”  said 
the  manager.  But  he  did  the  best  he  could. 

Charley,  the  worker,  had  been  subpoenaed  by 
the  prosecution — an  unwilling  witness.  He  was 
busy  day  and  night  v/ith  those  whose  testimony 
was  most  damaging.  It  was  to  his  interest  and 
to  their  interest  to  let  the  woman  prove  as  little 
as  possible.  Sautern  was  not  to  blame.  He  ad- 
vised Matt  to  go  home  before  he  had  spent  a dol- 
lar. If  Tolliver  insisted  on  sitting  into  a game  of 
poker,  that  was  his  own  fault;  and  if  he  lost 
his  money,  why — that  was  one  of  the  things  that 
often  happened.  Sautern  was  unjustly  accused. 
It  wasn’t  right. 

People  talked  about  the  affair  all  over  the 
county.  The  R&puhlican  and  the  Democrat  gave 
it  extended  notice,  and  finally  public  opinion 
seerhed  to  decide  that  if  Sautern  was  guilty  the 
law  was  wrong.  That  relieved  the  defendant, 
and  made  Mrs.  Tolliver’s  claim  for  $5,000  dam- 
ages an  unparalleled  persecution. 

But  Poole  was  in  earnest.  He  would  not  talk 
about  the  case  on  the  street.  He  seemed  to  know 
when  a man  came  to  him  from  Sautern  on  the 
subject,  or  from  any  one  else  in  Sautern’s  interest, 
and  he  told  all  of  them,  and  told  them  plainly, 
that  he  was  after  a verdict,  and  that  he  would 


108 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


certainly  get  it.  He  could  prove  by  a cloud  of 
witnesses  that  Tolliver  had  bought  drink  after 
drink,  and  paid  for  them;  that  Sautern  himself 
had  at  length  gone  behind  the  bar  and  waited  on 
him;  that  the  pensioner  had  taken  the  beggarly 
remnant  of  his  money,  and  followed  a party  into 
the  little  back  room,  where  they  began  playing, 
only  to  cease  when  destitution  and  Susann  ended 
the  game. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  knew  all  the  wit- 
nesses, knew  the  methods  that  would  be  employed 
to  keep  them  from  testifying,  and  knew  just  how 
to  prevent  that  action.  He  could  afford  to  decline 
with  emphasis  all  invitations  to  “ go  and  see 
Sautern  and  fix  the  thing  up.”  People  generally 
were  gratified,  and  began  to  look  forward  with 
surprised  interest  to  the  vigorous  prosecution  of  a 
saloon-keeper.  Public  opinion,  that  mercury  in 
the  thermometer  of  history,  had  shifted  again,  and 
was  now  risen  to  the  approval  of  rectitude. 

Tolliver’s  was  the  fourth  case  on  the  civil 
docket.  The  third  was  closed  early  in  the  after- 
noon, and  the  judge  called  the  next  in  order;  but 
the  attorne}'^  in  a matter  of  smaller  importance 
asked  that  the  case  of  Tolliver  versus  Sautern  be 
passed  till  the  following  day,  while  his  more 
trivial  contest  be  settled  in  the  short  remnant  of 
the  present  session.  He  talked  a moment  with 


SAUTE RN  DEFENDANT. 


109 


the  interested  attorneys,  and  they  gracefully  gave 
way.  They  could  do  nothing  of  importance  this 
evening,  any  way.  And  so  the  announcement 
went  out  that  Susann  Tolliver’s  big  case  would 
begin  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 

Lawyer  Poole  sat  alone  in  his  office  that  night, 
smoking  a very  disreputable  pipe  and  gazing  off 
across  the  table,  which  was  littered  with  books 
and  papers.  He  had  about  made  up  his  mind  to 
cut  loose  from  the  old  crowd,  and  prosecute  vig- 
orously every  case  on  the  docket.  He  was  weary 
unto  death  with  the  domination  of  that  gang  at 
Sautern’s.  He  stood  head  and  shoulders  above 
them  in  learning  and  wit;  he  knew  that.  And  it 
brought  him  no  little  shame  to  reflect  in  the  same 
moment  that  they  had  used  him.  He  looked 
back  eight  years,  and  remembered  his  advent  in 
Fairview.  How  he  trembled  then  on  the  verge 
of  attempt.  How  nervously  he  counted  all  the 
factors  that  could  be  employed,  and  how  quickly 
he  saw  the  strength  of  the  saloon  interest.  With 
a natural  bent  for  politics,  he  reflected  to-night 
that  he  had  devoted  his  abilities  to  a very  poor 
cause,  and  sold  his  services  for  an  exceedingly 
small  consideration.  He  had  hobnobbed  with  the 
worst  of  them  right  from  the  start.  And  here 


xio 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 


Ill 


when  it  paid  them  to  throw  him  over,  how  quickly 
they  had  done  it. 

“Oh,  well,  I don’t  blame  them,”  he  said,  as  he 
bestirred  himself  to  fill  his  pipe  again  “I  haven’t 
earned  decent  treatment,  and  I haven’t  received 
it.  That’s  plain  enough — and  it’s  fair  enough,  for 
that  matter.  Serves  them  right,  though,  that  in 
trying  to  run  that  convention  with  a sort  of  moral 
shot-gun,  they  should  get  the  prohibitionist  named 
for  prosecuting  attorney.  He’ll  make  things  warm 
next  summer — if  they  don’t  buy  him.  And  they 
didn’t  get  a single  man  they  wanted,  excepting 
Dodd.  Well,  from  here  out — Come  in,  come  in!” 

This  last  was  directed  toward  the  door,  where 
some  one  was  clumsily  knocking.  It  was  Petcher, 
attorney  for  the  defense  in  Sautern’s  case. 

“Come  in,”  said  Poole,  as  the  other  hesitated 
on  the  threshold.  “ Don’t  you  know  any  better 
than  to  knock  at  an  office  door  Sit  down.  What 
do  you  want.? 

Petcher  was  accorded  a kinder  reception  than 
he  had  expected.  It  would  by  no  means  have 
surprised  him  had  Poole  slammed  the  door  in  his 
face.  Yet,  unstrained  as  was  the  greeting — for 
the  apparent  rudeness  was  a part  of  their  olden 
familiarity — the  visiting  lawyer  saw  this  was  not 
the  Poole  he  had  known  for  the  past  eight  years. 
He  caught  a defiant  ring  in  that  steady  tone 


112 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


which  boded  no  good  to  his  mission.  Still,  at  the 
worst,  it  was  only  a question  of  amount.  An 
unpurchasable  man  was  simply  inconceivable. 

“ Poole,  what  are  you  going  to  do  in  the  Tol- 
liver case.^  ” 

“ Going  to  sock  you  for  the  maximum  damages 
— that’s  what.” 

Petcher  searched  his  vest  for  a cigar,  and  asked 
with  unruffled  air,  “ Isn’t  that  pretty  rough,  con- 
sidering everything.?  ” 

“Well,  considering  what.?  You  and  I might 
as  well  talk  plain,  Petcher.  We  know  each  other 
and  each  other’s  past.  No  use  beating  about  the 
bush.  What  do  you  want  ? ” 

“ Considering  the  services  Sautern  has  rendered 
you.  He  has  been  pretty  good  to  you,  Poole. 
It  isn’t  hardly  right  for  you  to  jump  on  him  now 
just  because  some  gin-soaked  old  pensioner  got 
tight  in  his  place.  Let’s  continue  this  case  until 
next  term.  Maybe  you  can  see  the  thing  as  you 
ought  before  that  time.” 

“ And  have  Ezra  Fuller  begin  a State  prosecu- 
tion.? For  God’s  sake — are  you  less  afraid  of 
that  prohibitionist  than  you  are  of  me.?  Then  we 
don’t  postpone.  Petcher,  I have  made  up  my 
mind  to  cut  loose  from  the  whole  blasted  gang. 
There  is  room  in  this  town  for  a decent  lawyer — 
besides  yourself,  of  course;  besides  yourself.  I 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 


113 


am  going  to  enter  in  that  class.  If  you  came 
here  for  a postponement,  you  are  left.  I try  this 
case  like  all  the  others — and  I try  them  hard.” 

If  you  don’t  think  people  down  on  the  street 
can  hear  you  plain  enough,  why  don’t  you  call 
them  up  } ” asked  Petcher,  irritated  at  the  other’s 
lack  of  discretion.  “ Here,  have  a cigar.” 

Poole  did  not  touch  the  proffered  roll. 

“ When  you  go  out  of  office,  you  will  drop  like 
a collapsed  balloon,  Poole.  Nothing  kills  a lawyer 
off  like  serving  a term  as  prosecutor.  Now  you 
can  starve  along  here  without  a salary,  or  you 
can  take  regular  pay  from  Sautern  and  Steele  and 
Ringer — just  as  you  like.  This  prohibition  fellow 
is  going  to  shake  up  the  dry  bones  in  Fairview, 
and  these  men  will  have  a lot  of  cases  to  defend. 
You  continue  this  one,  and  I am  authorized  to 
offer  you  a thousand  dollars  a year  to  defend  all 
their  cases,  and  you  can  take  as  much  other  busi 
ness  as  you  can  get.  What  do  you  say?  ” 

With  a perfect  understanding  of  the  lucrative 
returns  for  legal  services  in  Indiana  county  seats, 
the  writer  is  abundantly  safe  in  saying  that  Mr. 
Petcher  was  the  bearer  of  a very  flattering  offer. 

“Why  do  you  want  to  continue  this  case  if  you 
are  afraid  of  my  official  successor?  ” 

“ Because  you  will  defend  the  State  cases  so 
much  more  ably  than  I can,”  said  wily  Mr. 


m 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Petcher,  with  a graceful  inclination  of  the  head. ) 

“ Petcher,  you  don’t  touch  me.  You  ought  to) 
know  me  better.  You  fellows  have  some  scheme,  j 
What  it  is  I don’t  know,  and  I don’t  need  to  know,  i 
But  you  can  make  no  headway  here.  Go  back ; 
and  tell  Saut  I am  out  for  blood.  I will  make; 
the  ring  think  before  this  term  of  court  is  over 
that  kingdom  has  come,  and  they  are  not  ready.” 
But  Mr.  Petcher  retained  his  seat  undisturbed. 
After  a time  he  continued: 

“ Now  here.  There’s  no  use  acting  this  way.' 
Pve  seen  prosecuting  attorneys  go  out  of  office 
before,  and  they  generally  act  as  if  it  was  a 
mortal  offense  to  ask  for  their  retirement.  Don’t : 
be  unreasonable.  You’ve  had  your  share.  Nonei 
of  us  gets  all  he  wants.  You  can  do  better  by 
acting  sensibly  than  by  this  foolishness.  Can’t 
we  arrange  it  for  me  to  win  this  case  of  Sautern’s?  ‘ 
You  know  plenty  of  ways.  You  might — ”, 

“I  might  throw  it  over.  Yes,  I know.  But  1 ! 
won’t  do  it.  No  use,  Petcher;  I mean  it.  You! 
can’t  buy  me.  I am  going  on  the  dead  square! 
from  this  out.  I am  tired  of  the  whole  thing.l 
There  is  better  work  in  me  than  cleaning  up 
Sautern’s  waste.”  i 

“I  read  a pretty  thing  in  that  line  the  other i 
day,”  said  Petcher,  affably.  “The  Governor, 
jneets  one  of  his  principal  workers  on  the  square, 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 


115 


and  says  to  him,  ‘Well,  how’s  politics?’  And 
the  worker  says,  ‘ I don’t  know,  haven’t  been 
down  to  the  saloon  this  morning,’”  and  the 
lawyer  laughed  very  heartily.  He  would  like  to 
penetrate  this  armor  of  Poole’s  with  some  sort  of 
a weapon. 

“ That’s  just  it,”  said  the  prosecutor,  “and  I’m 
ashamed  of  it.  The  idea  of  a free  people  sur- 
rendering their  own  government  into  hands  like 
that.  Why,  we  had  better  have  a monarchy — 
far  and  away.  I won’t  do  it ! I won’t  do  it ! I 
tell  you  there  is  villainy  enough  in  the  men  who 
sent  you  here  to  sell  your  wife  or  my  mother  into 
slavery  to-morrow.” 

“ Oh,  there  is ! Look  here.  If  we  cannot  buy 
you,  maybe  we  can  pound  a little  reason  into  you. 
You  come  down  from  that  high  horse,  Poole,  or 
your  own  official  record  goes  before  the  court. 
You  hear  me.  If  it’s  war  you  want  you  may  get 
a stomach  full.” 

Poole  got  up  from  the  table,  crossed  his  hands 
behind  him  and  walked  the  length  of  the  room,  as 
if  considering.  Petcher  let  him  go  till  the  leaven 
should  work.  Presently  the  prosecutor  said: 

“You  simply  don’t  understand  me.  I can’t 
blame  you,  for  I have  been  wallowing  in  the  same 
trough  with  this  sour-mash  gang  for  eight  years. 
Of  course,  when  I say  I am  through,  they  don’t 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


ii6 

believe  it;  but  it’s  true.  This  town  is  dead  as  a 
door  nail,  and  has  been  for  twenty  years.  Yet 
there  are  six  saloons  in  it.  The  men  who  own 
them  control  practical  politics  in  the  county. 
They  name  every  officer,  or  buy  him  after  better 
men  name  him.  They  govern  the  town.  They 
fix  the  street  grade.  They  locate  bridges.  They 
vote  special  tax,  and  direct  how  to  spend  it. 
They  even  dictate  who  shall  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
gain  a home  in  the  poor-house.  They  run  not 
only  the  whole  municipal,  but  the  social  machinery, 
from  top  to  bottom.  No  one  dares  to  stand 
against  them.  When  Elder  Bishop  preached  the 
truth  about  them  he  was  run  out  of  town,  and  we 
all  stood  on  the  street  corners  and  laughed.  Not 
a church,  or  a lodge,  or  a store,  or  even  a private 
family  but  it  confesses  some  things  must  not  be 
done  because  the  saloons  oppose ; or  will  be  done  ' 
because  the  saloons  want  them.  Now,  I know  the 
whole  thing  from  bark  to  center,  and  I am  out 
against  it.  Don’t  think  I am  fooling.  From  here 
forward,  I fight  the  saloon.  About  my  official 
record — it’s  public.  Hunt  up  what  you  like,  and 
use  it  as  you  want  to.  You  will  always  find 
me  here — next  to  the  bank,  up  stairs  and  i 
first  door  to  the  right,  as  the  advertisement 
says.  Now,  don’t  waste  any  more  time  with  I 


me. 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 


117 


It  was  hardly  professional  courtesy,  and  Mr. 
Petcher  rose  in  a great  passion. 

“I  don’t  have  to  sit  in  your  office,  Mr.  Poole,” 
he  said,  hotly.  “ I have  rooms  of  my  own.” 

“ Then  go  there,”  rejoined  the  prosecutor,  reck- 
lessly. 

And  it  was  an  actual  fact  that  Poole  had  not 
for  one  moment,  in  all  his  talk,  reflected  that  his 
oath  of  office,  his  bounden  duty,  required  at  his 
hands  just  the  work  he  had  resolved  to  do.  It 
was  like  a newly-discovered  virtue.  Pique  had 
begun  what  honor  would  finish;  but  the  homely 
quality  of  fealty  to  a public'  trust  was  buried  far 
• too  deep  in  a mass  of  baser  habit  to  easily  dawn 
on  the  conscience  of  a practical  man. 

Next  day,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  Petcher 
asked  for  a continuance  in  Sautern’s  case.  Poole 
opposed  it,  and  he  threw  into  his  opposition  such 
vigor  and  earnestness  that  those  on  the  inside  con- 
cluded something  was  wrong.  The  clerk  nodded 
to  the  sheriff,  and  the  professional  jurymen 
moistened  their  lips  in  expectancy. 

But  the  judge  had  had  no  revelation;  and  so,  as 
he  believed  Sautern  was  safer  in  Poole’s  hands 
than  in  those  of  that  fiery  young  attorney  who 
would  surely  be  elected;  and  as  he  knew  who 
was  making  judges  in  Fairview  County,  he  ruled 
against  the  motion.  Then  every  method  known 


118 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


to  the  practice  was  employed  to  secure  a delay; 
but  Poole  was  better  armed  than  Petcher,  and 
met  every  charge  with  a readiness  that  showed 
the  gang  the  metal  and  the  stature  of  the  man 
they  had  lost. 

At  noon  the  work  of  securing  a jury  was  begun, 
and  one  after  another  the  old,  tried  and  true 
patriots  who  had  haunted  every  session  of  court 
for  a dozen  years,  were  rejected  by  Poole.  Some 
question,  gleaned  from  the  abundance  at  hand, 
would  pierce  their  harness,  and  down  they  would  . 
go.  Adjournment  saw  only  four  peers  selected.  i 
This  was  very  curious.  When  similar  cases  had 
been  brought  previously  the  panel  could  be  filled 
in  half  an  hour.  The  talk  on  the  streets  of  Fair-  j 
view  that  night  was  that  Poole  was  mad  as  hornets, 
and  would  really  try  and  win  that  case  against 
Sautern. 

The  sheriff  couldn’t  locate  Charley,  the  worker. 
His  subpoena  was  returned  “Not  found.”  A 
ripple  of  glee  told  that  the  spirits  of  the  defense 
were  rising. 

Next  morning  the  case  was  called,  and  a jury 
was  secured  by  noon.  It  seemed  a particularly 
sensible  body  of  men.  Most  of  them  were  farmers, 
and  all  were  reasonably  free  from  the  dominion  of 
Sautern  and  his  gang.  One  by  one  the  witnesses 
were  sworn,  and  one  by  one  they  showed  in  every 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 


119 


word  and  action  that  they  were  out  of  place  in 
the  prosecution.  But  the  event  of  the  day  came 
just  before  adjournment,  when  Petcher’s  first  wit- 
ness, Alva  Martin,  a cooper,  said  he  walked  with 
Tolliver  from  the  bank  to  Sautern’s  on  the  occa- 
sion of  the  pensioner’s  drawing  and  losing  his 
allowance;  that  he  bought  and  paid  for  the  liquor 
that  Tolliver  drank;  that  he  went  into  the  poker 
game  with  him,  and  saw  him  give  Mrs.  Tolliver, 
when  she  broke  in  the  door,  more  than  the  $24 
he  had  when  he  entered. 

Petcher  fairly  beamed  on  the  witness.  He  had 
strong  bits  of  the  evidence  repeated  now  and  then, 
and  placed  this  substantial  timber  where  it  would 
do  the  most  good  in  the  framework  of  his  defense. 

“ Take  the  witness,”  he  said  at  last,  in  that  tone 
which  is  the  condensation  of  assurance. 

“You  know  you  are  under  oath,  do  you,  Mar- 
tin?” asked  Poole,  in  a familiar,  not  a professional 
manner. 

“Ya-as,  of  course.” 

Poole  looked  at  him  very  straight  for  some 
seconds.  It  was  not  a dark  frown,  or  anything 
frightful.  It  was  simply  the  direct  gaze  of 
one  man  who  knows  a lie,  at  another  who 
tells  it. 

“ Know  the  penalty  for  perjury,  Martin?”  This 
rather  kindly. 


120 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“I  object!”  shouted  Petcher,  and  then  he 
bristled  with  indignation  for  some  moments.  But 
Poole  was  not  disturbed.  He  asked  a number  of 
the  most  irrelevant  questions,  and  so  consumed 
the  session. 

Right  at  the  door  he  met  Sautern  face  to  face. 

“ Saut,  you  heard  Martin’s  testimony,  did  you.^” 
“Yes.” 

“Well,  you  produce  Charley,  the  worker,  here 
in  court  by  lo  o’clock  to-morrow  morning,  or  I 
will  put  you  to  the  trouble  of  defending  a charge  , 
of  subornation  of  perjury.” 

“ You  don’t  know  what  you  are  talking  about,” 
gasped  Sautern,  livid  with  anger  and  fright.  He 
was  off  his  guard.  Had  it  come  to  this.^  Was 
it  possible  he  could  be  talked  to  in  such  a manner, 
and  by  an  elected  official.?  The  day  of  miracles 
seemed  come  again.  All  Fairview  joined  in  the  . 
stare  of  amazement.  Poole’s  defiance  of  the 
powers  that  be  was  as  public  as  the  court-house  , 
steeple.  No  one  could  explain  or  minify  that 
command,  accusation,  threat.  News  of  the  event 
traveled  into  the  country  with  the  home-going 
teams,  and  next  day  a larger  crowd  than  ever 
gathered  at  the  trial.  , 

Charley  was  there.  He-  gave  his  testimony 
with  a great  appearance  of  sincerity.  It  was  not 
of  a piece  with  the  rest  of  the  evidence.  The  gang 


POOLE  WAKES  TO  MANHOOD. 


121 


had  learned  wisdom  somewhere,  and  the  worker 
kept  perilously  close  to  the  truth. 

And  then  came  the  arguments.  Some  of  the 
older  residents  remembered  the  day  when  Poole 
first  came  to  town.  They  remembered  his  maiden 
speech  at  the  convention  in  that  presidential  cam- 
paign, and  they  remembered  how  his  warm  words 
and  strong  style  waked  the  echoes  in  their  dry  old 
hearts,  and  gained  the  youngster  a place  of  honor 
in  the  county  and  the  party. 

Now  they  recalled  that  effort,  and  heard  it 
eclipsed.  They  listened  to  a man  who  knew  most 
thoroughly  all  the  infamy  of  the  defense;  listened 
to  him  heap  reproach  upon  it  in  terms  of  scalding 
truth;  listened  to  him  as  he  turned  from  thunder- 
ous denunciation  to  sarcasm  as  acute  as  it  was 
severe.  They  heard  him  charge  home  guilt  in 
the  debauching  of  that  helpless  old  veteran,  and 
crime  in  the  attempt  to  escape  from  its  conse- 
quences. And  they  heard  him  close  with  the 
bravest,  noblest,  strongest  demand  for  justice  that 
ever  the  old  walls  of  the  room  had  echoed: 

The  jury  was  won,  and  the  verdict  was  his  first 
height  on  the  way  to  a new  life. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPER.^ 

It  was  the  last  Sunday  but  one  before  election. 
Things  had  improved  a little  in  the  past  few  days. 
Poole  was  announced  as  an  independent  candi- 
date for  prosecuting  attorney,  and  this  is  how  it 
came  about.  His  conduct  during  the  last  term  of 
court  had  proven  him  fearless,  efficient  and  reli- 
able. No  one  could  understand  it,  but  they  could 
all  see  it.  The  Democratic  candidate  was  not  an 
especially  strong  nomination.  Poole  in  his  olden 
state  was  satisfactory  enough  to  the  opposition 
party,  and  Matthews  was  only  named  that  the 
ticket  might  be  full.  But  wise  ones  everywhere 
knew  he  would  be  traded  in  the  interest  of  Frank 
Logan  when  it  came  to  the  polls. 

There  was  already  a very  strong  belief  that 
Ezra  Fuller  had  pledged  himself  to  certain  inter- 
ests. A suspicion  was  awakened  when  Sautern 
was  found  to  prefer  him  to  Poole  as  a prosecutor. 
It  was  strengthened  as  the  campaign  progressed, 
and  he  was  found  to  modify  his  temperance  senti- 
ments in  the  public  speeches.  And  finally  it  was 


122 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPER? 


123 


confirmed  when  John  Haberly  assured  the  com- 
mittee that  Fuller’s  contribution  to  the  campaign 
fund  lay  right  between  the  offering  of  Sam 
Sautern  and  that  of  Richard  Ringer. 

“ He’s  a fish,”  said  the  bolder  ones,  as  they 
discussed  Ezra.  “He  thought  he  was  honest 
when  he  lived  at  Hamlet  and  made  red-hot  talks 
agin  the  saloon;  and  he  thinks  he’s  honest  now 
when  he  goes  about  putting  salve  into  all  the  old 
sores  he  ever  made.  He  thinks  he  can  ‘ control 
the  monster,’  and  will  prove  that  he  is  not  afraid, 
by  lying  down  with  it  in  perfect  peace  of 
mind.” 

Ezra  Fuller’s  conversion  to  “ liberal  ” views  was 
a source  of  much  trouble  to  the  faithful  in  the  out 
townships,  and  they  had  taken  occasion  one  night 
in  a meeting  at  Hamlet,  to  put  the  case  squarely 
before  him  and  demand  a pledge  in  keeping  with 
his  utterances  prior  to  the  nomination — utterances 
which  won  that  nomination  for  him.  And,  in  the 
presence  of  messengers  who  could  blast  him  in 
every  precinct  of  the  county  if  he  earned  the 
hatred  of  the  gang,  Ezra  declared  himself.  The 
gang  was  satisfied,  but  the  honest  old  fellows — 
the  fools  who  thought  men  meant  what  they  said — 
were  disappointed.  Some  of  them  were  ready  to 
throw  him  over.  And  when,  at  the  close  of  Fuller’s 
speech,  a man  from  Fairview  rose  and  advocated 


124 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


the  independent  candidacy  of  Lawyer  Poole,  he 
found  a score  of  friends  on  the  instant. 

Major  Poole  had  long  enjoyed  the  friendship  of 
the  Refuhlican.  Editor  Thompson  was  willing,  on 
very  slight  provocation,  to  lay  down  the  journal- 
istic dignity,  and  steep  himself  in  such  convivial 
pleasures  as  were  affected  by  the  elect — county 
officers,  a few  leading  merchants,  and  a fast  farmer 
or  two.  The  two  men  had  long  been  boon  compan- 
ions in  these  occasional  meetings  which  took  place 
in  the  large  upper  rooms  of  the  “ Mammoth  build- 
ing,” and  even  the  vices  known  there  cemented 
the  regard  they  had  for  each  other.  The  Refuh- 
Ucan  was  for  Poole  in  the  county  convention,  and 
when  he  was  defeated,  indulged  a very  question- 
able editorial  comment  on  the  ability  of  the  nominee. 

But  party  is  part}'^;  and  after  some  little  reflec- 
tion Mr.  Thompson  came  out  strong  for  Ezra 
Fuller,  reserving  the  right  to  say  such  little  kind 
things  of  the  veteran  as  would  do  him  good  when 
the  staff  of  official  income  should  be  laid  down. 
No  one  objected  to  that;  but  when,  as  dog-days 
ended,  and  fateful  November  came  in  hailing  dis- 
tance, it  was  noticed  the  vetern  always  fared  better 
than  the  recruit  in  the  Republican' s surnming  up 
of  merit;  and  it  was  decided  to  call  a halt.  But 
Thompson  was  not  an  easy  man  to  handle.  He 
held  such  positively  ruinous  doctrines  on  the  subject 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPER? 


125 


of  editorial  rights,  he  had  gone  through  such  a 
vitrifying  process  in  his  twenty  years^  experience 
on  the  tripod,  that  volunteers  to  teach  him  his 
duty  were  not  unduly  plenteous. 

On  the  second  Saturday  night  in  October,  the 
Prohibitionists,  always  noisy  between  elections, 
were  holding  a mass  meeting  in  the  public  square, 
and  a good  many  of  the  old  guard  had  been  drawn 
to  the  spot,  just  to  see  how  young  Lawyer  Fuller 
would  trim  his  sails  in  these  conflicting  breezes. 
This  used  to  be  his  crowd.  Every  one  of  these 
weazened  old  fellows,  proud  of  lips  untouched  by 
alcohol,  had  hung  on  the  young  man’s  periods  in 
more  than  one  meeting,  and  had  indorsed  his 
candidacy  with  a strength  which  no  one  pretended 
to  disregard. 

They  had  been  enthusiastically  for  him  from 
the  start;  but  little  by  little  things  had  been 
occurring  to  make  them  question  his  sincerity,  and 
this  meeting  seemed  to  have  been  planned  for  the 
single  purpose  of  crowding  him  upon  record. 

Below  the  legislative  nominees  the  Prohibition- 
ists had  no  candidates  to  offer,  but  they  were 
intensely  interested  in  the  prosecuting  attorney. 
New  laws  would  be  made  this  winter,  partly  by 
the  counsel  of  whisky  men,  and  with  a view  of 
stemming  the  rising  tide  of  prohibition ; and  these 
extremists  were  in  a fever  of  impatience  for  a man 


126 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


who  could  and  would  enforce  all  such  legislation 
as  came  thus  to  them,  fair  spoil  of  war.  A number 
of  their  leaders  addressed  the  meeting,  and  repeated 
calls  were  made  for  Ezra  Fuller.  He  was  in  the 
crowd,  but  well  to  the  rear,  and  declined  to  respond 
for  a time.  When  he  could  not  well  avoid  it 
any  longer,  the  young  man  made  his  way 
toward  the  stand,  stopped  in  front  of  one  of 
the  great  flaming  torchlights  which  gave  illumi- 
nation to  the  grounds,  and  began  a non-committal 
address. 

It  was  just  a collection  of  dull  old  saws,  that 
could  offend  no  one,  be  he  Christian,  Jew  or  Turk. 
But  they  did  not  suit  the  temper  of  the  crowd. 
These  may  have  been  “a  cranky  lot  of  old  fossils,” 
as  fresher  young  men  with  faultier  faces  sometimes 
called  them;  but  they  were  in  earnest — and  they 
could  vote. 

“ If  elected  will  you  prosecute  the  cases  on  the 
docket  against  Sautern.?”  some  practical  fellow 
shouted. 

Fuller  tried  to  dodge  by  simulating  deafness, 
but  it  did  no  good. 

“Will  you.^”  “Will  you.^”  came  from  every 
part  of  the  ground.  He  must  answer.  He  dared 
not  answer  “ Yes,”  lest  the  whole  force  of  the  gang 
descend  like  an  avalanche  upon  him.  He  could 
not  stand  there  and  say  “ No,”  so  he  weakly 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPER? 


127 


Stepped  down,  and  said  neither.  But  he  might 
better  have  defied  than  ignored  them. 

Some  hot-head  got  the  ear  of  the  crowd,  and 
began  a harangue,  pleading  for  the  nomination  of 
a Prohibition  candidate  for  prosecuting  attorney. 

“We  can  do  nothing  without  one,”  he  cried. 
“ Our  laws  will  be  laughed  at,  our  work  will  be 
wasted.  And  right  here,  right  now,  is  the  place 
and  time  to  prove  our  strength  in  Fairview  County. 
I’d  rather  see  every  man  on  the  Democratic  ticket 
elected  to-morrow  than  vote  for  this  man  who  was 
with  us  for  the  nomination,  and  against  us  for  the 
election.”  And  the  sentiment  was  cheered  to  the 
echo. 

Some  one  shouted  “Major  Poole ! ” The  lawyer 
had  witnessed  the  shameful  retreat  of  his  late  suc- 
cessful rival,  and  was  laughingly  commenting  on 
it  to  Thompson  when  he  heard  his  name  called. 
His  eye  met  the  bright,  blazing  look  of  inspiration 
on  the  face  of  the  editor.  Both  were  veterans  in 
politics,  but  the  chances  presented  right  here 
rather  staggered  them. 

“ Think  quick,”  said  Thompson.  “ If  they 
mean  it,  go  in.”  Then  he  shouted  aloud,  “Major 
Poole!” 

They  meant  it.  Not  a man  in  that  crowd  had 
forgotten  the  Tolliver  trial.  They  had  lain  awake 
nights,  glorying  in  his  courage  and  his  skill.  They 


128 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


had  no  chance  to  doubt  his  sincerity,  and  almost 
wished  his  conversion  had  come  earlier.  But  they 
had  been  pinning  their  faith  to  Fuller  then,  and 
never  till  this  instant,  when  the  cowardice  of  the 
latter  consumed  in  an  instant  all  their  fealty  for 
him,  did  the  Prohibitionists  turn  to  Poole.  In  that 
revulsion  all  his  ability,  all  his  courage,  his  fight 
against  and  victory  over  the  gang,  came  back  to 
them  like  a blaze,  illuminating  the  surer  path. 
Retributive  justice  to  Fuller,  no  less  than  their 
own  plans,  were  furthered  by  the  choice;  and  the 
shouting  continued: 

“ Major  Poole ! ” “ Major  Poole ! ” 

He  had  decided.  The  prosecuting  attorney 
paced  slowly  across  the  grass,  and  mounted  the  rude 
platform  that  had  served  as  pulpit  for  all  manner 
of  political  gospels  that  summer.  He  stepped  to 
the  front.  The  crowd  pressed  closer  and  hushed 
into  attention.  His  right  hand  was  thrust  into  his 
coat,  his  left  was  behind  him  in  that  old-fashioned 
attitude  he  fancied  the  great  lawyers  loved.  His 
face  was  lifted,  his  eyes  were  bright,  and  all  about 
the  man  was  that  unnamed  air  which  presaged  a 
message.  No  one  introduced  him,  and  no  one 
needed  to. 

“Gentlemen,”  he  began;  and  then  added,  not 
as  an  afterthought,  but  as  purposely  set  apart, 
“and  ladies!”  There  was  greeting  in  the  first 


WHO  EDITS  TEE  NEWSPAPER? 


129 


word;  there  was  a caress  in  the  last.  “I  am  not 
a Prohibitionist.”  Some  smart  person  started  to 
say,  “We  all  know  that,”  but  the  orator  cut  in 
with  a strength  which  ingulfed  and  a dignity 
which  abashed  the  disturber — “but  I keep  my 
word.”  There  was  a perceptible  sound  of  assent 
that  rose  to  a modest  applause.  “ I am  as  inde- 
pendent a man  as  any  of  }^ou.  I have  discharged 
the  duties  of  prosecuting  attorney  of  Fairview 
County  for  four  years,  and  my  record  is  as  open 
as  the  day.  It  is  not  for  me,  but  the  people,  to 
approve  or  condemn  it.  My  associates  and  friends 
in  this  city  have  ever  been  the  men  who  gave  me 
my  office.  But  a short  time  ago  a case  arose  in 
which  an  old  soldier,  injured  in  the  defense  of 
your  home  and  mine,  was  robbed  in  the  house  of 
one  of  the  politics  makers,  the  opinion  makers, 
the  officer  makers,  of  Fairview.  The  injured  wife 
came  to  me  to  prosecute  her  suit  for  damages. 
When  I was  admitted  to  practice  at  the  bar  of 
Indiana — a bar  which  holds  names  bright  in  the 
diadem  of  justice — I swore  to  maintain  such 
actions  as  seemed  to  me  legal  and  just,  to  employ 
in  that  maintaining  such  means  as  are  consistent 
with  truth,  and  to  never  reject,  for  any  reason 
personal  to  myself,  the  cause  of  the  defenseless  or 
the  oppressed.  That  was  my  promise,  and  that 
was  the  pledge  that  was  kept.  Was  it  for  me  to 


130 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


betray  Matt  Tolliver’s  case  because  a defendant 
could  punish  me?  By  no  means.  I am  not  so 
beholden  to  him  or  to  you,  or  to  any  one  on  earth, 
as  to  perjure  myself  for  hire.  And  I say  to  you 
now,  that  if  I am  in  this  office  when  your 
laws  are  made,  I shall  prosecute  them  with  all 
the  vigor  and  ability  and  persistence  of  which 
I am  master,  till  the  voice  of  the  people — in 
Fairview  County,  at  least — shall  be  the  voice  of 
God.” 

There  was  a very  whirlwind  of  applause  as  the 
lawyer’s  right  hand,  withdrawn  from  his  bosom, 
visibly  lifted  them  toward  the  Author  of  right. 
An  impetuous  disciple  of  the  new  faith  leaped  to 
the  stand,  and  in  a tumult  of  “Ayes!”  pledged  the 
last  Prohibition  vote  in  Fairview  County  to  Major 
Poole  for  prosecutor. 

Thompson  took  the  arm  of  his  friend,  and  they 
walked  away. 

“ It’s  your  night,  Poole.  Things  are  coming  your 
way.  I can’t  go  back  on  the  ticket,  but  I’ll  say 
all  any  man  on  earth  can  say  for  you — and  I hope 
you’ll  get  the  office  again;  I do,  honest.  It  will 
serve  them  right.” 

“You  go  slow,”  said  the  generous  Major. 
“Don’t  hurt  yourself  with  the  gang.  Your  friend- 
ship is  very  grateful,  and  I would  be  making  a 
very  poor  return  if  I let  you  break  with  those 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPER? 


131 


ellows,  and  lose  by  serving  me.  They  can  hurt 
ou  more  than  they  can  me.” 

But  when  the  Republican  come  out  next  week 
here  was  a graphic  account  of  the  meeting,  with 
he  incidents  that  made  it  memorable ; an  editorial 
egret  that  Ezra  Fuller  had  not  measured  up  to 
he  standard  of  his  opportunities,  and  a more  than 
:ind  word  for  Major  Poole.  There  was  much  to 
)e  said  for  the  man.  He  was  true  to  his  party, 
,nd  had  the  courage  to  so  declare  himself  in  the 
'ery  face  of  the  crowd.  He  was  really  entitled 
0 the  office,  and  it  would  not  be  strange  if  he 
von  it. 

That  was  too  much  for  an  organ  to  say ; but  it 
vas  nothing  to  a column  contribution  signed 
l‘ Veritas,”  which  appeared  on  the  very  first  page. 
Vhoever  the  writer  was,  he  knew  the  county, 
ie  dealt  in  facts  as  sharp  as  poniards,  and  as 
nany-sided  as  crystals.  He  was  unsparing  of  the 
jang,  and  named  men,  recited  events,  recorded 
lates,  with  a precision  and  persistence  that  added 
veight  to  the  undoubted  truth  of  every  line. 
‘Veritas”  advocated  the  election  of  Major  Poole 
or  the  good  of  the  old  party,  for  the  vindication 
)f  the  new,  for  the  benefit  of  the  public  generally. 

It  was  a bombshell  in  the  camp  of  the  faithful. 
The  boys  had  not  done  carrying  the  last  of  the 
idition  to  the  post-office  when  groups  could  be 


132 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


seen  all  over  town,  listening  to  the  strong  word: 
of  the  unknown  writer.  Who  was  “Veritas.?’ 
No  matter.  He  was  dangerous  or  delightful- 
depending  on  how  you  looked  at  the  success  o: 
the  ticket. 

Just  after  noon  John  Haberly  climbed  the  stain 
to  the  Re-publican  sanctum,  accompanied  by  Sims 
the  county  committeeman,  and  Sautern,  the  hea( 
and  front  of  the  offending.  Thompson  receivec 
them,  gave  them  such  chairs  as  his  place  afforded 
and  sat  down  to  await  the  charge.  No  need  t( 
begin  jesting,  or  attempt  to  deprecate  the  gath 
ered  wrath  of  that  trio.  The  manager  opened  th( 
fight. 

“ Thompson,  who’s  ‘Veritas’ .?” 

It  was  blunt,  but  no  more  blunt  than  the 
answer. 

“ I will  not  tell  you.” 

“What.?”  in  angry  surprise,  from  Sims  anc 
Sautern. 

“I  will  not  tell  you,”  repeated  the  gaunt  editor, 
calmly  turning  his  eyes  on  the  vendor  of  intoxi- 
cants. Evidently,  Mr.  Haberly  must  manage 
this  thing  carefully.  Temper  would  do  it  no 
good. 

“We  think,  Thompson,  that  was  a very  grave 
mistake  of  yours,  printing  such  an  article  right 
here  ten  days  before  election.  It  will  do  the 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPERf 


133 


liicket  no  end  of  harm.  You  know  we  all  expect 
i|7ou  to  stand  by  the  regular  nominees  from  start 
■0  finish,  and  it  is  a real  calamity  to  have  such  a 
thing  occur.  You  get  the  tax-list  and  the  county 
printing,  and  all  the  blanks,  and  whatever  adver- 
tisements the  sheriff  or  other  officers  have  to  give 
Dut,  besides  all  those  of  the  attorneys  on  our  side, 
and  it  is  no  more  than  fair  for  you  to  support  our 
iticket  when  we  make  it,  even  if  all  your  friends 
are  not  on  it.  We  went  to  a heap  of  trouble,  and 
just  as  we  have  got  Ezra  Fuller  fixed  so  he  isn’t 
dangerous,  here  you  come  along  with  your  old 
‘Veritas,’  and  spoil  the  whole  arrangement.” 

“ I am  supporting  your  ticket,”  said  Thompson, 
not  overlooking  the  latter  and  more  important 
admission.  “Veritas”  might  need  it.  “The 
paper  has  a dozen  paragraphs  and  items,  urging 
the  voters  to  do  their  duty  by  depositing  a clean 
ballot  from  top  to  bottom ; telling  them  the  strong 
points  in  our  men  and  our  measures,  and  the  weak 
points  in  the  enemy.  Have  you  read  them.?  ” 
“Yes,  but  then  you  spoil  it  all  when  you  say 
what  you  do  about  Poole,  and  this  ‘ Veritas,’  who- 
ever he  is,  makes  an  awful  mess.  That  will  cost 
us  scores  of  votes.  It  will  beat  Fuller,  and  most 
likely  carry  down  other  candidates.  You’ll  see 
next  Monday  the  Democrats  will  pull  down  their 
candidate  for  prosecutor,  and  trade  high  and  low 


134 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


for  clerk  and  sheriff.  You  can’t  do  that  sort  ol 
thing  here.  The  boys  won’t  stand  it.  It’s  an 
awful  blunder.  And  we  must  know  who  wrote 
that  article.  That’s  the  first  thing.” 

“And  then  what.^  ” asked  Thompson,  with  prO' 
yoking  coolness. 

“ Then  you  must  get  out  extras  from  now  till 
election, ^and  try  to  undo  the  damage.” 

“ How.?  ” 

“Attack  Poole.  We  can  give  you  plenty  ol 
ammunition.  He  has  done  lots  of  crooked  things. 
Lay  this  week’s  issue  on  one  of  the  boys,  and  dis- 
charge him  till  after  election — or  something.  Anc 
then  whoop  it  up  for  the  ticket  till  the  polh 
close.” 

But  all  this  was  not  enough  for  Sautern.  He 
was  mad  from  center  to  circumference,  and  could 
scarcely  restrain  his  anger  from  breaking  out  ir 
harsh,  profane  tirades  against  this  fool  editor,  whc 
had  told  the  truth. 

“ Naw,  that  ain’t  half,  John,”  he  said,  impa- 
tiently. “ This  is  the  blaekest  treachery  ever  I 
seen.  Take  baek  every  word  you  said,  and  then 
give  up  the  name  of  the  man  who  wrote  this — ’ 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  the  editor,  “ we  may  as  well 
end  this  delightful  conversation.  You  are  nof 
running  this  paper,  and  I am.  Leastwise,  I thinfc 
I am.  At  any  rate  I pay  the  bills,  do  the  worlj 


WHO  EDITS  THE  NEWSPAPEBf 


135 


and  attend  to  the  business,  and  I am  going  to  set 
up  my  type  to  say  just  what  things  I please.  I 
don’t  please  to  take  back  a word,  because  every 
word  was  as  true  as  gospel.  And  as  for  telling 
who  ‘ Veritas  ’ is,  I won’t  do  it.” 

“Why,  you  must,  Thompson,”  said  Sims. 
“Isn’t  this  a public  paper?  ” 

“It’s  a public  paper  from  a private  office.  It’s 
public  when  it’s  published.  Up  here  I’m  boss. 
You  have  no  more  right  to  come  in  and  dictate 
how  to  run  this  place  than  I have  to  take  charge 
of  Sautern’s  saloon  or  your  hardware  store. 
What  you  do  there  is  your  own  business;  its  effect 
on  the  public  is  public  business.  The  former  I 
cannot  interfere  with;  the  latter  any  one  may  criti- 
cise. So  with  the  Republican.  It’s  yours  only 
when  it’s  delivered  to  the  people.  From  that 
time  forward  you  may  do  as  you  like  with  the 
copy  you  get.  Before  that  you  have  no  right  to 
interfere — and  you  won’t  interfere  much  with  me, 
neither.” 

“I  demand  the  name  of  the  writer  of  that 
‘Veritas  ’ article,”  shouted  Sautern,  rising  angrily. 

“Demand  and  be  hanged.  I won’t  tell  you. 
It’s  none  of  your  business.  If  you  are  aggrieved, 
go  get  your  Ezra  Fuller  to  sue  me  for  libel.  I 
can  then  take  all  the  responsibility  on  my  own 
shoulders,  or  make  the  author  answer  for  his  share 


136 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


of  the  crime,  just  as  I like.  But  I don’t  want  any 
of  you  people  to  overlook  the  fact  that  I am  run- 
ning this  paper,  and  your  only  remedy — ^if  you 
don’t  like  it — is  to  pay  up  and  quit.  This  thing 
of  making  the  whole  town  bound  in  the  manage- 
ment and  free  in  the  expense  won’t  work  in  the 
Republican. 

And  that  was  as  near  satisfaction  as  they  could 
come. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


ELECTION, 

So  here  was  the  strange  condition  of  the  gang 
pulling  for  prohibition  Ezra  Fuller  against  cor- 
rupt old  Poole,  as  they  had  come  to  call  him. 
Every  hour  the  truth  became  plainer.  The  in- 
cumbent was  more  dangerous  to  them  than  was 
the  novitiate.  Anti-saloon  men  everywhere  were 
warned  by  that,  and  they  trusted  the  older  man. 
Some  of  them  swore  they  would  trade  Dodd  votes 
for  him,  even  if  it  elected  a Democratic  clerk  and 
sheriff  too. 

Poor  John  Haberly’s  hands  were  very  full.  It  , 
took  a heap  of  money,  he  said,  and  an  almighty 
sight  of  night  riding.  True,  Ellet  Grant  was  tol- 
erably safe,  but  then  even  Ellet  could  not  afford 
to  refuse  his  assessments.  He  was  a pretty  strong 
man,  but  in  the  tangle  which  had  developed  this 
past  week  he  was  by  no  means  strong  enough  to 
chance  the  whirlpools  of  desperate  political 
straights.  He  gave  up  money  easier  now  than 
formerly.  He  was  at  first  less  cautious  what  was 
done  with  it,  was  later  less  careful  not  to  find  out. 


137 


138 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


and  at  last  he  was  willing  to  see  its  vile  commis- 
sions, and  to  speed  it  heartily. 

Election  day  was  cold  and  rainy.  “A  Demo- 
crat day,”  said  Haberly,  gaily,  as  he  drove  into 
town  early  Tuesday  morning. 

“ Where  you  been,  John.^*  ” asked  Sims,  the  cen- 
tral committeeman. 

“ Looking  at  the  calves  on  pasture,”  said  the 
astute  Haberly.  “Did  you  ever  notice  that  the 
better  they  were  fed  the  easier  they  could  be  kept 
together.^  ” 

He  was  about  town  from  early  ip  the  morning 
till  far  past  midnight,  and  made  no  sign  that  con- 
fessed his  forty-eight  hours  continuous  riding,  but 
his  jaded  team  stood  in  the  stalls  and  sighed  with 
a thankfulness  that  was  almost  human. 

Charley,  the  worker,  was  very  busy.  He  dis- 
played an  air  of  importance — even  arrogance — 
that  was  not  equalled  by  the  greatest  magnate  in 
Fairview  County.  He  talked  loud,  shouting  from 
the  middle  of  the  street  for  the  challengers  to  stop 
a certain  vote.  He  called  men  by  their  given 
names,  and  ordered  them  to ‘“Come  here,”  with 
an  authority  that  really  deceived  him,  though, 
perhaps,  not  any  one  else.  Still  Haberly  and  the 
rest  of  them  flattered  him  enough  to  get  a great 
day’s  work  done  by  the  only  man  at  once  shrewd 
enough  and  base  enough  for  its  accomplishment. 


ELECTION. 


139 


He  knew  the  voters  who  were  weak,  and  took 
-them  up  the  alley,  laboring  with  them,  ranging 
from  Sautern’s  back  door  to  Ringer’s  back  door, 
and  from  there  to  Steele’s;  making  occasional 
dives  into  the  Democrat  politics  factories,  and 
patronizing  the  bar  there  with  the  most  charming 
absence  of  partiality.  He  had  plenty  of  money, 
and  hurrahed  for  the  ticket  with  contagious  con- 
stancy, proving  its  merit  by  vicarious  generosity. 

The  law  said  no  saloon  should  be  open  on  elec- 
tion day,  but  of  course  no  one  did  more  than 
pretend  to  obey  that  piece  of  legislative  foolishness. 
The  front  doors  were  securely  locked,  and  the 
windows  most  securely  blinded;  but  back  doors 
and  side  doors  were  as  hospitable  as  ever.  The 
law  said  no  intoxicating  liquor  should  be  sold, 
bartered  or  given  away  from  the  hour  when  the 
polls  were  opened  till  the  hour  when  the  polls 
were  closed.  But  that  was  a dead  letter — a very 
dead  letter — in  Fairview.  Should  the  deities  who 
made  the  day  great  have  no  libations  poured  upon 
their  altars? 

Charley  found  his  voters  defiant,  resolute 
against  the  ticket,  full  of  argument  and  brave 
words  for  Poole  and  Frank  Logan,  the  opposi- 
tion State  and  the  opposition  national  ticket. 
He  labored  with  them  in  soggy  eloquence; 
he  talked  very  plainly,  even  offensively;  but  no 


140 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


anger  was  roused.  He  led  them  around  to  the 
nearest  groggery,  and  let  them  have  whatever 
they  wanted — no  matter  how  they  meant  to  vote. 
He  was  not  a man  to  make  enemies  on  account 
of  politics.  Let  a man  vote  his  own  senti- 
ments here;  that  was  Charley’s  way.  This 
was  not  Florida,  nor  yet  Mississippi,  and  men 
might  vote  as  they  pleased  in  Fairview. 
And  have  another  drink;  and  another;  and 
another. 

But  that  other  ticket  was  a beastly  thing. 
Wasn’t  a decent  man  on  it  from  president  down. 
Look  at  their  candidates  in  Fairview  County; 
Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  and  secessionists — 
every  one  of  them.  And  then  look  at  ours. 
Every  man  on  our  ticket  is  a gentleman.  Fellow 
can  vote  that  straight  through,  and  be  proud  of  it. 
And  they  are  generous  men,  too.  They  don’t 
want  a man  to  help  them  for  nothing  Look  here. 
Here’s  a bill  that  goes  with  every  ticket.  Take 
another  drink.  Now  let’s  go. 

And  from  defiance  and  self-reliance,  the  voter 
turns  to  tractibility,  to  concession,  to  compliance. 
Charley  walks  with  him  to  the  very  polls,  sees 
him  deposit  that  very  ballot  and  no  other — then 
drops  him,  turns  from  him,  abandons  him,  despises 
him  with  the  loathing  of  a base  man  for  one  still 
baser — and  catches  the  manager’s  eye,  follows  the 


ELECTION. 


141 


directing  glance  to  some  new  victim,  and  continues 
the  work  of  freedom. 

If  the  voter  were  turbulent,  he  was  purchased; 
if  weak,  he  was  driven;  if  honest,  no  one  ap- 
proached him.  That  were  a blunder  greater 
than  a crime-.  But  the  workers  were  held 
responsible  for  the  yeomen  assigned  them, 
and  it  was  a flagrant  dereliction  to  let  one  man 
get  away, 

“Isn’t  costing  as  much  this  year  as  usual, is  it.?” 
asked  Sims  of  John  Haberly,  when  the  mid-after- 
noon pause  gave  them  a little  rest  before  the  final, 
rushing  close, 

“No,”  said  the  slightly  disgusted  manager. 
“Voters  are  getting  cheaper  every  year,” 

Each  man  knew  his  duty  when  the  thickening 
crowds  warned  that  the  day  was  ending.  A little 
knot  around  the  polling  place  watched  each 
approaching  voter.  The  opposing  parties  were 
similarly  manned,  were  armed  with  like  weapons, 
and  differed  chiefly  in  the  amount  of  ammunition  to 
be  used.  The  advance,  the  grapple  with  each 
floating  prize  was  the  same  in  every  case.  The 
stream  began  clear  enough  in  the  morning,  and 
ran  with  varying  translucency  all  day,  only  to 
thicken  into  a torrent  of  muddy  waters  as  evening 
darkened  toward  night,  until  at  the  close  every 
nerve  and  fiber  of  those  who  ran  elections  were 


142 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


bent  to  leave  the  imprint  of  deepest  impurity  on 
the  page  of  liberty’s  record. 

All  that  is  meant  in  the  olden  calling  and 
anointing  of  kings  is  implied  in  the  franchise  of 
to-day.  God  chose  the  leaders,  and  set  the  seal 
of  approval  upon  them.  This  divine  attribute  of 
election  is  wrested  from  deity,  and  lodged  in  the 
hands  of  men.  Should  they  not  reverently  approach 
their  duty,  and  exercise  in  purity  the  warrant  of 
Omnipotence.^ 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A patriot’s  gospel. 

Ellet  Grant  had  been  sheriff  a year.  A thous- 
and things  which  had  shocked  him  at  first  were 
trivial  to  him  now.  He  came  to  his  office  fresh 
from  the  purity  of  a home  which  did  not  know 
the  deeps  that  lay  beneath  the  fair  fabric  of  their 
commonwealth.  He  found  with  a surprise  which 
he  soon  learned  to  hide  that  what  was  shame  to 
honest  men  was  matter  of  pride  to  those  in 
authority.  He  found  the  guns  of  accusation  were 
silenced  between  the  violators  of  truth  in  his  own 
party  and  the  like  offenders  in  opposing  forces. 
He  found  they  met  on  fraternal  grounds,  and 
laughed  at  crimes  that  he  had  thought  beyond  the 
daring  of  men  to  do  even  in  secret.  He  even 
found — they  attended  to  that — his  own  tenure  of 
office  stained  all  over  with  the  mire  of  corruption. 
Yet  he  did  not  revolt.  He  told  these  things  at 
home  more  by  the  topics  he  treated  silently  than 
by  the  many  things  he  talked  about. 

Old  Wesley  had  been  an  Abolitionist  at  one 
time,  and  was  fired  with  the  single  passion  for 


144 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


right  and  freedom.  He  based  his  prayers  on  that, 
and  fully  believed  whatever  needed  justice  could 
secure  it  through  the  straight  highway  of  recti- 
tude. He  believed  as  fully  now  in  prohibition; 
and  when  he  learned  by  shrewd  questions — which 
his  own  son  had  not  the  shrewdness  to  parry — 
that  the  blackness  of  darkness  enveloped  the  elec- 
tion franchise,  he  gathered  in  silence  the  strength 
and  the  material  for  future  uses.  He  was  filled 
with  a purpose  that  consumed  his  ordinary  quiet. 
A light  they  had  never  seen  in  the  old  man’s  eyes 
began  to  tell  of  a work  for  which  his  final  strength 
was  fitting.  - 

And  when  the  next  campaign  came  on  old  Wes- 
ley Grant  became  a power  in  the  field. 

Ellet  lived  at  Fairview,  in  a cosy  home  in  which 
Esther  presided  with  a grace  and  sweetness  that 
won  both  her  and  her  brother  prompt  social 
recognition.  The  girl  found  with  that  quick 
intuition  which  is  purely  feminine,  though  not 
monopolized  by  women,  that  her  intimacy  with 
the  Misses  Haberly  harmed  her  somewhat.  But 
they  had  been  the  first  to  greet  her^  they  had 
troubled  themselves  in  a thousand  ways  to  smooth 
her  pathway  in  the  town,  and  were  bound,  more- 
over, by  their  brother’s  services,  to  receive  her 
kindest  treatment.  In  the  church,  and  all  the 
little  pleasant  affairs  that  grew  from  that  connec- 


A PATRIOTS  GOSPEL. 


145 


tion ; in  the  street,  and  even  in  the  ordinary  meet- 
ings of  the  place,  she  found  no  audience  so  small 
or  so  large  that  it  did  not  raise  its  eyebrows  a 
little  when  she  knit  her  fellowship  with  these  two 
girls.  At  first  Esther  did  not  understand  it. 
They  were  better  dressed  than  she,  they  kept  an 
establishment  quite  beyond  her  in  elegance  of 
appointments,  and  they  knew  so  many  of  the 
little  things  with  ’which  it  is  a comfort  to  be 
familiar. 

Yet  all  this  did  not  atone,  and  her  keen  sensi- 
bilities were  often  wounded  by  the  tacit  refusal  to 
extend  to  them  the  same  consideration  accorded 
to  herself.  A woman  more  selfish  would  have 
taken  the  hint,  and  dropped  them;  but  she  could 
not  find  that  in  her  heart.  It  looked  like  the 
ingratitude  she  had  so  often  railed  against  in 
country  people  transplanted  to  the  light  frivolities 
of  town. 

She  was  a frequent  and  an  informal  caller  at  the 
Haberly  home,  and  both  the  young  ladies,  with 
their  polished  brother,  had  the  most  cordial  entree 
to  her  house.  And,  after  a time,  the  more 
severely  she  felt  the  ostracism  of  her  friends,  the 
more  closely  did  she  draw  to  them.  She  even 
saw  many  things  about  them  that  could  grate 
upon  fineness  and  propriety,  yet  glossed  the  little 
delinquencies  and  took  no  alarm.  That  she  walked 


146 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


a little  closer  to  John  Haberly  in  the  moonlight 
stroll,  which  often  took  the  five  from  home,  was 
part  of  this  retreat  from  a world  that  did  not 
understand  him.  It  was  a greater  part — perhaps 
the  perfect  work — of  that  accomplished  man;  but 
of  this  she  took  no  sensible  account  until,  the  cam- 
paign being  fairly  opened,  she  found  she  must 
choose  between  her  father’s  sturdy  right  and 
this  man’s  suave  diplomacy;  for  Wesley  was  in 
the  field  with  the  vigor  of  an  old  campaigner,  and 
the  triumphant  tread  of  a victor.  Her  heart  was 
with  her  father,  but  not — so  much  was  she  changed 
— with  his  work.  And  all  of  her — heart,  soul  and 
sense  of  blessedness — was  with  this  younger  man. 

There  had  been  a great  temperance  meeting  in 
Fairview.  It  was  an  off  year,  and  the  lines  of 
party  were  not  so  rigidly  drawn.  Hundreds  had 
listened  to  the  speeches,  and  gone  away  wondering 
why  the  truth  should  not  prevail.  They  were 
wondering  still  more  why  Wesley  Grant  dared 
stand  up  there  before  that  audience,  and  thunder 
his  denunciation  against  the  very  ring  which  had 
made  his  son  a sheriff.  They  wondered  most  at 
his  familiarity  with  men  and  methods,  with  schemes 
and  trades  and  strange  results.  They  were 
amazed  that  he  dared  to  state  the  whole  truth  in 
such  an  entirely  open  manner,  and  did  not  hesitate 
to  prophesy  that  he  would  meet  with  trouble. 


A PATRIOTS  GOSPEL. 


147 


The  burden  of  his  speech  was  current  matter 
for  discussion  before  the  day  was  over.  Yet  he 
got  into  his  buggy  and  drove  home  quite  undis- 
turbed by  the  angry  comment  of  the  gang. 

And  they  were  angry.  Argument  like  that 
from  a man  like  that  would  lose  them  the  legisla- 
tive ticket,  sure.  It  was  what  they  might  have 
expected  from  him — the  ungrateful  old  traitor — 
they  said.  He  must  be  stopped  some  way. 
Haberly  and  Ellet  were  talking  about  it  in  the 
club  that  night,  before  the  regular  habitues  arrived. 
“ The  Club  ” was  the  large  room  back  of  the 
prosecuting  attorney’s  office;  and  it  was  frequented 
every  night  by  a number  of  well-dressed  gentle- 
men who  were  traveling  very  rapidly,  and  not  in 
the  safest  direction. 

“You  better  go  out  and  see  the  old  man  to- 
morrow, Ellet.  Get  him  to  quit  this  infernal  fool- 
ishness. There  is  nothing  in  it  for  him;  make  him 
see  that.  And  there  is  everything  in  it  to  harm 
us.  We  will  have  trouble  enough  electing  our 
men  as  it  is.  The  votes  he  can  control  will  just 
simply  ruin  us.” 

Ellet  would  not  have  believed,  two  years  before, 
that  any  man  could  safely  designate  as  “ infernal 
foolishness”  anything  that  Wesley  Grant  did;  but 
to-night  he  passively  indorsed  that  valuation  placed 
upon  it.  He  doubted,  though,  his  ability  to  change 


148 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


his  father  to  any  great  extent.  He  stood  in  a 
good  deal  of  awe  of  that  old  Trojan.  There  was 
much  in  the  father  there  was  not  in  the  son,  and 
the  latter  knew  it.  However,  he  promised  to 
drive  out  early  to-morrow  and  attend  service  at 
the  Pretty  Lake  church,  eating  dinner  at  the 
homestead,  and  doing  what  missionary  work  he 
could  while  there. 

Then  he  impaled  a very  short  fragment  of  cigar 
on  the  point  of  his  penknife,  and  pursued  his 
smoking.  The  other  men  came  in  shortly,  and 
attention  was  transferred  from  the  political  out- 
look to  the  careful  scrutiny  of  cards,  in  blocks  of 
five.  The  gang  was  gambling. 

John  Haberly  had  always  been  very  successful 
at  these  meetings.  Some  people  said  it  made  up 
the  half  of  his  income. 

Ellet  Grant  walked  into  the  old  church  the  next 
day  with  the  first  headache  he  ever  remembered  j 
carrying  there.  He  shook  hands  cordially,  yet  j 
modestly,  with  a number  of  men  and  women,  and  i 
then  handed  Miss  Haberly  to  a seat  in  the  woman  | 
side  of  the  room,  deferring  to  the  rural  custom  of 
separating  the  sexes.  For  himself,  he  pushed 
along  to  the  open  window,  and  filled  the  pauses 
in  the  service  by  looking  out  at  the  placid  lake, 
and  honestly  wishing  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  that  he  could  go  back  to  the  time  when  his 


A PATRIOTS  GOSPEL. 


149 


thoughts  were  light  as  the  sunbeams  that  danced 
in  the  air  over  there  by  the  sands.  Yonder  were 
the  crumbling  logs  of  the  old  pen  where  the  sheep 
were  kept  when  they  came  for  the  annual  wash- 
ing, just  before  the  time  to  shear.  A little  farther 
was  a spring,  deep  and  clear  and  cold  and  grate- 
ful. Farther  still  was  the  swimming  hole,  and 
his  heart  gave  a throb  as  he  thought  of  the  cool, 
delicious  sensation,  that  flight  through  the  air, 
that  plunge,  used  to  yield  him.  A little  nearer 
was  the  shallow  bottom,  where  scores  and  scores 
had  walked  down  to  holy  baptism,  their  hearts  as 
pure  as  the  glistening  water  that  made  a pathway 
for  the  setting  sun. 

All  that  was  joyful,  and  all  that  was  tearful  in 
his  boy  life,  had  passed  within  hearing  of  this 
cliff-bound  lake. 

Wesley  Grant  gave  his  son  and  the  young  lady 
his  customary  cordial  greeting,  but  Ellet  could 
see  from  the  start  his  mission  here  was  a failure. 
The  old  man  seemed  a very  Gibraltar  of  purpose. 
At  dinner  the  commonest  things  were  talked  of. 
Mother  missed  Esther,  arid  did  not  understand 
why  she  had  not  come  home.  Ellet’s  explanation 
that  his  sister  had  driven  with  Haberly  to  Fayette 
for  the  day  was  not  entirely  satisfying.  Alice 
was  lonesome,  and  promised  herself  a visit  in 
town. 


150 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


After  dinner  Ellet  and  his  father  sat  on  the 
front  porch  and  talked.  The  young  man  tried  to 
begin  on  a strain  somewhat  in  harmony  with  what 
he  knew  the  boys  were  saying  in  town.  He 
stumbled  a little  at  first,  but  as  Wesley  let  him  go  . 
without  contradiction, or  even  interruption,  he  grew 
surer  of  his  ground,  and  talked  very  plainly.  But 
his  castle  of  dictation  crumbled  into  the  olden  con-  : 
dition  of  boyish  respect  when  his  father  asked  him : ' 
“Who  told  you  to  say  that.^” 

“Well,  no  one  in  particular;  but  it  is  the  way  , 
we  all  feel  about  it ; and — ” 

“Unfortunately,  I cannot  help  how  you  feel.  If  , 
Icould,  you  might  feel  better.”  Ellet’s  conscience 
caught  that  thrust.  “You  and  I need  no  false 
assumption  between  us.  We  know  each  other, 
and  I know  a good  many  more  things  than  you 
think  I do.  They  are  getting  you  down,  Ellet; 
and  I never  thought  you  were  weak  enough  to  let 
them.  There  is  something  so  wrong  in  that  sys- 
tem in  town  that  it  must  be  revolutionized.  It  is 
not  simply  a slimy  monster;  washing  won’t  help 
it.  It  is  a deadly  monster;  it  must  be  killed.  I 
am  going  to  live  to  see  the  day  when  not  a drop 
of  grog  is  sold  in  Fairview.” 

“You’ll  never  do  it,  father.” 

“Should  I not.^  Is  it  not  right Isn’t  it  a thing 
to  be  desired.^” 


A PATRIOTS  GOSPEL. 


151 


“Yes,  vastly.  But  you  could  never  enforce  that 
sort  of  a law,  even  if  you  had  it  made|  and  you 
can’t  make  it.  You  can’t  carry  elections.  It  takes 
money  and  manipulation.  You  won’t  use  money, 
and  you  can’t  manipulate.” 

“ Ellet,  a man  don’t  have  to  buy  what  he  already 
owns.  Our  men  will  vote  our  way  because  they 
really  want  to.  You  couldn’t  hire  or  scare  them 
to  do  anything  else.  A very  dangerous  slave  is 
the  freeman  who  sells  his  suffrage.  But  he  is 
safety  beside  the  man  who  buys  it.  That  is  sim- 
ply horrible.  It  rocks  the  very  foundation  stones 
of  freedom.  You  hav'e  no  right  to  buy  one  ballot. 
It  is  v/orse  than  gun,  or  knife,  or  fagot.  Scare 
him,  abuse  him,  wound  him,  and  he  will  rise  some 
day  to  defy  you — if  he  has  a drop  of  the  blood  of 
a freeman  in  his  veins.  But  buy  him,  and  you 
debauch  him  forever.  We  must  get  back  to  first 
principles,  or  we  are  a lost  nation.  . Rum  rule 
must  go  down,  or  we  go  down.  Ellet,  there  will 
be  a law  made  someday  that  will  say  ‘Hands  off!’ 
to  you  people . It  will  make  it  a penitentiary 
offense  to  buy  a single  ballot.  Your  Johns  and 
your  Charleys  and  all  the  rest  of  the  pestilen. 
brood  will  have  to  keep  their  distance,  and 
will  not  be  allowed  to  see  whether  the  men 
they  have  bought  are  delivering  the  goods  or 
not.  They  will  have  to  stand  aside,  and  sec 


152 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


voters  vote  a[s  they  will.  That  ends  corrup- 
tion.” 

“ Oh,  no  it  won’t.  I’ve  heard  of  that  kind  of  a 
law,  and  whenever  they  pass  that  sort  of  a thing 
the  fellows  that  now  get  in  their  work  at  the  polls 
will  simply  get  the  cattle  drunk,  and  keep  them 
from  voting  at  all.  They  will  hire  them  to  stay 
away  all  day.  It  will  be  cheaper  than  it  is  now, 
and  just  as  effective.” 

“ Then,  Ellet,  in  the  name  of  a race  in  danger, 
can  you  see  any  other  way  out  than  the  abolition 
of  the  drink  evil } If  this  is  true,  must  we  not  go 
to  the  bottom,  and  root  out  the  tree  in  the  branches 
of  which  your  Ringers,  and  your  Steeles,  and 
your  Sauterns  flourish.^  Don’t  you  see  what  it  is 
doing.?” 

“Oh,  yes;  but  surely  you  know  there  is  not 
enough  public  sentiment  now  to  endorse  such  a 
radical  course.” 

“ That’s  the  language  of  a traitor,  Ellet.  Put  it 
back  into  the  mouth  of  the  man  who  taught  it  to 
you.  You  know  I am  right,  yet  you  oppose  me. 
You  want  what  I want,  yet  you  work  against  me. 
You  talk  of  a lack  of  public  sentiment,  yet  you 
help  to  weaken  what  public  sentiment  there  is. 
Either  your  words  or  your  actions  convict  you  of 
insincerity.  Put  yourself  on  my  side — on  the  side 
you  admit  is  right — and  then  the  sentiment  will 


A PATRIOTS  GOSPEL. 


153 


be  that  much  stronger.  Why  do  men  hold  so 
close  to  what  they  know  is  wrong.?  Why  do  they 
pretend  to  wish  for  better  things  when  they 
encourage  worse  things.?  Do  they  think  they 
deceive  anybody.?  Actions  speak  louder  than 
words.  What  they  work  for,  they  want.” 

“ Oh,  they  don’t  try  to  deceive  anybody.  They 
are  as  much  opposed  to  drunkenness  as  you  are; 
but  they  are  in  favor  of  saloons,  as  things  are  now, 
and  until  people  get  educated  up  to  better  things. 
Saloons  make  business.  Where  there  are  none, 
there  is  no  trade.  If  no  liquor  were  sold  in  Fair- 
view  I know  lots  of  men  who  wouldn’t  go  there 
twice  a year.  They  would  patronize  some  place 
where  they  could  get  a drink  when  they  wanted 
it.  But,  any  way,  father;  about  this  campaign 
work  of  yours.” 

“Now,  never  you  mind  about  this  campaign 
work  of  mine.  You  go  back  to  John  Haberly, 
and  Bill  Sims,  and  Sam  Sautern,  and  all  the  rest, 
and  tell  them  I am  out  to  stay.  I am  one  of  a 
thousand  men  who  are  working  day  and  night  for 
the  legislature — and  we  are  going  to  get  it.  Mark 
my  word,  we  will  pass  a law  making  it  a felony 
to  buy,  sell  or  give  away  one  drop  of  liquor — as  a 
beverage.” 

“ Oh,  that  kind  of  a law  would  be  unconstitu- 
tional. The  whisky  men  would  kill  it  in  no  time. 


154 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


They  would  have  a test  case  moved  to  the  top  of 
the  Supreme  Court  docket — everything  else  there 
might  wait — and  they  would  get  a decision  that 
would  put  your  cause  back  twenty  years.” 

“Then  why  don’t  your  fellows  let  me  alone.? 
They  know  that  is  the  kind  of  a law  I am  after, 
and  they  have  known  it  from  the  start.  If  it  is 
what  they  want,  too,  why  are  they  riding  all  night, 
and  spending  money  like  the  wind,  and  drugging 
this  whole  State  with  alcohol — just  to  beat  us.? 
They  don’t  want  it;  but  we  will  have  it;  and  all 
the  scheming,  and  swilling  and  corruption  of  the 
gang  cannot  stop  it.  God  pity  me  that  I am  say- 
ing this  to  my  own  son!  God  send  I shall  never 
have  worse  to  say  to  him!” 

He  had  risen.  At  the  start  the  old  man’s  frame  | 
was  tense  with  energy.  At  the  last  his  eyes  were 
swimming  in  tears,  and  he  turned  away  to  hide 
the  weakness. 

This  was  not  the  kind  of  a Sunday  afternoon 
Ellet  remembered  at  the  farm.  He  tried  to  shake 
off  the  feeling  of  strangeness  and  distance  which 
chilled  and  separated  him  from  that  perfect  com- 
fort of  the  past.  He  walked  through  the  rooms, 
noted  the  little  changes,  begged  Alice  to  play,  and 
then  left  before  she  had  finished.  He  looked  at  the 
stock,  and  so  came  at  last  to  the  barn.  The 
floors  were  clean,  the  mows  were  full.  The  fra- 


A PATRIOT’S  GOSPEL. 


165  , 


grance  and  quiet  of  harvests  completed  filled  the 
wide  walls  with  restfulness.  Here  in  the  old  tem- 
ple of  a boy’s  abandon,  he  caught  the  scents  that 
are  ever  the  same,  and — man  as  he  was — 
bowed  his  head  in  silent,  tearless,  choking 
anguish. 

After  that,  resentment.  He  brought  out  his 
horses,  and  began  hitching  them  to  the  buggy. 
He  had  driven  up  in  front  of  the  house  before  they 
knew  he  intended  leaving.  Then  Miss  Haberly 
bustled  around  with  the  turmoil  of  a small  woman, 
and  made  her  adieux.  Alice  kissed  her  great, 
strong  brother  good-bye,  and  searched  in  his  face 
for  the  demon  that  had  driven  the  angels  from  the 
homestead. 

She  found  it. 

“Ellet,”  said  Wesley,  coming  around  the  house 
from  the  farther  porch,  “ going  home 

“Yes;  it  will  be  sundown  by  the  time  we  are 
there.  Come  in  when  you  can.  Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye.  But,  Ellet.  Don’t  lay  up  what  I 
say  as  said  against  you;  it’s  only  against  your 
weak  and  suicidal  doctrine.  But  don’t  let  any  of 
the  fellows  flatter  themselves  that  this  thing  will 
blow  over  by  election  time.  I give  you  fair  warn- 
ing. It’s  our  legislature.  We  will  have  the 
law,  or  there  won’t  be  a per  diem  bill  passed 
in  ten  years.” 


156 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ All  right,  father,”  replied  the  young  man,  and 
he  thought  what  a measureless  gulf  there  was 
between  his  broader  plane  and  the  narrow  con- 
fines of  all  one-ideaed  men. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


A NIGHT  WITH  THE  BOYS. 

Esther  and  Haberly  had  not  yet  reached  home 
when  Ellet  returned.  He  went  to  the  restaurant 
for  supper,  and  then  dropped  into  the  saloon,  to 
see  if  any  one  was  there.  He  found  a few  of  the 
boys,  and  they  tempered  all  news  exchanges  with 
drinks  at  the  bar.  He  could  not  report  his  father 
won  over  to  the  right,  and  found — as  he  had 
anticipated — that  he  must  range  himself  in  antag- 
onism to  the  patriarch.  That  night  he  heard 
harder  things  said  of  old  Wesley  Grant  than  a 
year  ago  he  would  have  thought  any  man  would 
dare  say  of  him  in  any  presence — not  counting 
his  own.  The  boys  were  very  angry.  They 
were  stout  in  the  denial  of  strength  to  the  hated 
movement,  but  the  very  warmth  of  their  assertion 
belied  its  sincerity.  Finally,  they  went  up  stairs, 
where  Brubaker  and  Tom  Fisher  and  some  others 
were  deeply  hidden  in  cigar  smoke  and  draw  poker. 

“ Set  in,  Ellet,”  said  Brubaker,  cordially.  “ May- 
be you’ll  change  my  luck.”  And  he  carelessly 
fingered  a diminished  stack  of  celluloid  chips. 


157 


158 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


The  day  had  fitted  Ellet  for  just  such  a diver- 
sion. The  disappointing  visit  to  the  homestead, 
the  spirit  of  unnatural  antagonism  awakened  there, 
the  tacit  acknowledgement  of  his  own  comradery 
with  baseness,  and  something  of  the  loosening  of 
all  bonds — filial,  fraternal  and  patriotic — combined 
to  change  him  from  what  he  had  been  to  what  he 
dreaded  being.  Then,  the  liquor  which  other 
men  could  absorb  without  affecting  their  usual 
moods  and  actions,  had  the  effect  of  numbing  one 
side  of  his  nature  while  it  roused  another  to  dan- 
gerous alertness. 

He  took  a place  at  the  table,  and  invested  gen- 
erously. For  half  an  hour  the  smoky  goddess 
smiled  upon  him,  and  he  drew  rare  pleasure  from 
the  groans  that  marked  his  winning  from  these 
men.  He  wanted  to  inflict  suffering.  There  was 
no  mercy  in  his  betting.  He  took  Tom  Fisher’s 
last  dollar,  and  brutally  refused  to  loan  him  a 
dime.  He  was  cross  and  crabbed  with  the  play- 
ers, and  threw  down  his  winning  cards  with  the 
air  of  one  who  could  crush  them,  and  would  do 
it — glorying. 

He  plunged  from  one  success  to  another  as  the 
hours  sped  by,  meeting  the  wilder  play  of  Bru- 
baker and  Sautern  till  his  hour  of  triumph  had 
passed.  Then  he  began  losing.  Had  he  waited 
for  morning  with  half  the  patience  they  had 


A NIGHT  WITH  THE  BOYS. 


159 


waited  for  luck,  he  might  not  have  fallen.  But 
as  the  hour  hand  slowly  fell  from  vertical  to  hori- 
zontal, then  dipped  to  pendant,  Ellet  Grant’s  win- 
nings and  ten  times  their  amount  beside  were 
scattered  in  wild,  reckless,  unskilled  struggles. 

He  left  the  room  at  daylight,  badly  compro- 
mised, and  scarcely  able  to  conceive  the  disaster 
that  had  settled  upon  him.  He  walked  out  into 
the  clear  air,  pushed  back  his  hat  to  cool  his  fore- 
head, and  went  away  wondering  how  so  stupen- 
dous a fall  had  been  possible.  His  heart  ached 
that  the  man  he  had  been  could  do  a thing  so  vile. 
He  kept  his  thoughts  from  those  who  had  despoiled 
him.  Low  as  they  were,  was  he  any  better.? 

“ Sheriff  Grant,  good-morning.” 

It  was  the  hearty,  deep-toned  greeting  of  Elder 
Kimball,  the  preacher,  and  it  marked  a severer 
phase  of  his  abasement.  Would  that  man  speak 
to  him  if  the  work  of  the  last  night  were  in  view .? 

Ah,  was  it  not  in  view?  Did  not  all  these  peo- 
ple— early  movers  in  an  honest  day  — did  not  they 
know?  Could  not  they  see  it  on  his  face,  in  his 
clothes,  through  his  manner?  Was  he  able  to 
disguise  it?  Had  not  that  one  and  this  one  glanced 
at  him  in  the  most  chilling  of  manners? 

“ Go  home,  Ellet,”  he  said  to  himself,  bitterly. 
Then  he  tried  to  save  what  little  was  left.  They 
should  never  do  that  with  him  again.  Was  not 


160 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


he  strong  enough?  Had  not  he  always  been  bet- 
ter than  they?  He  would  not — he  -would  not  play 
one  more  time. 

So  he  dragged  a weary  frame  and  a heavy 
heart  over  his  threshold.  Esther  was  not  in  the 
house.  She  had  not  been  there  all  night.  At 
first  he  wondered  where  she  was,  then  he  wel- 
comed the  freedom  her  absence  gave  to  him  to  go 
to  his  room  and  sleep.  He  lay  on  the  bed  a long 
time,  picturing  the  scenes  of  that  awful  game,  and 
vowing  eternal  abstinence  hereafter.  Hands  of 
cards  drifted  past  his  wide,  staring,  smarting  eyes, 
like  visions  sent  to  haunt  him.  Again  in  fancy  he 
had  them  in  his  power,  and  recouped  his  losses, 
only  sinking  to  sleep  at  last  from  absolute  exhaus- 
tion. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  roused,  a headache 
remaining  to  link  this  wasted  day  with  last  night’s 
excesses.  As  he  dressed  himself  his  load  seemed 
lighter  than  in  the  morning.  He  was  more 
indifferent  or  more  hopeful  — he  hardly  knew 
which.  But  surely  there  was  some  way  out.  He 
was  awake  now,  and  at  himself;  he  knew  there 
was  plain  sailing  ahead,  after  all.  He  had  always 
found  some  resource  effective.  He  never  had 
been  compelled  to  suffer.  He  would  not  now.  He 
had  always  been  a leader  among  men,  and  he  was 
resolved  to  so  continue. 


A NIGHT  WITH  THE  BOYS. 


161 


Esther  was  busy  in  the  sewing-room  when  he 
went  down  stairs. 

“Where  were  you  last  night was  his 
greeting. 

“Well,  where  were  you.?”  was  her  response. 

Ellet  looked  at  his  sister  angrily.  Some 
unfamiliar  demon  in  him  stirred  to  strike  her.  He 
checked  the  impulse,  while  a wave  of  hot  blood 
suffused  his  face  and  neck.  It  shamed  him,  and 
he  ate  in  silence  the  meal  she  had  prepared,  grop- 
ing in  a dull  brain  for  some  weapon  with  which  to 
conquer  the  ascendancy.  Something  like  cool 
defiance  in  the  girl  humbled  him,  and  dulled  the 
edge  of  his  resentment.  Something  like  abandon 
in  her  manner  startled  him. 

But  he  was  still  more  humbled,  still  more  star- 
tled, when  he  went  down  street  and  found  the 
story  of  his  losses  had  already  cheered  the  ears  of 
all  the  gossips  in  town.  Half  a dozen  men  who 
never  played  dropped  hints  which  showed  the 
facts  were  public  property.  Sautern  stood,  aproned 
and  smiling,  in  his  door.  He  had  been  at  business 
all  day.  Brubaker  was  tilting  back  in  a chair 
before  the  drug  store,  in  his  habitual  fashion. 
They  bowed  and  spoke,  but  he  could  not 
meet  their  eyes;  they  knew  too  much.  Yet 
they  did  not  know  more  than  all  these  other 
men. 


162 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Ellet  went  to  the  office,  and  found  he  had  been 
needed  badly.  He  knew  he  was  not  strong 
enough  to  be  defiant.  He  must  explain.  God 
pity  the  man  who  has  to  apologize! 

He  told  them  he  had  spent  the  day  at  his 
father’s  place,  and  had  just  arrived  in  town. 

“But  I saw  you  put  up  your  horses  at  sundown 
last  night,”  said  an  indignant  tax-payer.  “I  know 
where  you  were,  and  shall  make  it  my  business 
that  others  know.” 

He  would  not  be  silenced,  and  went  away  loud 
in  his  wrathful  threatenings.  Ellet ’s  only  hope 
was  that  he  would  meet  some  of  the  boys,  who, 
for  the  sake  of  the  party,  would  induce  him  to 
keep  still. 

A deputy  had  made  some  collections,  and  could 
show  no  record  of  the  fact.  The  litigant  had  been 
notified  to  come  in  and  settle.  He  came  with  his 
receipt,  and  when  he  had  fixed  the  error  in  the 
sheriff’s  office,  made  bold  to  tell  Ellet  he  was  done 
voting  for  him.  ! 

“You’ve  got  a pack  of  worthless  rascals  about  ; 
you,”  he  said,  angrily.  “I  thought  you  was  a j 
model  man.  Grant,  when  you  went  in;  thought  i 
you  was  one  of  my  kind,  and  lots  of — ” 

“Well,  I am  not  one  of  your  kind,”  shouted  the  j 
sheriff.  “Thank  God  for  that.”  And  the  terri- 
fied countryman  went  away  with  very  slender 


A NIGHT  WITH  THE  BOYS. 


163 


faith  in  anything  that  looked  like  a county  officer. 
■‘Something  spoils  ’em,”  he  mused,  as  he  drove 
home  through  the  dust. 

But  the  complaint  was  deserved,  and  Ellet  knew 
;t.  He  was  angry  with  the  deputy  for  the  over- 
sight, but  felt  instinctively  he  dared  not  now  say 
;o  him  all  that  he  wished.  The  deputy  was  too 
ivell  backed. 

Taken  altogether,  the  day  was  too  much  for 
aim.  He  stopped  in  at  Ringer’s  after  the  office 
was  closed,  and  tried  to  console  himself  with  a 
lirink.  Charley,  the  worker,  was  there  with  some 
)f  the  boys. 

“Thought  you  were  going  to  build  fence  for 
Sims  to-day,”  remarked  Ellet. 

“Naw,”  said  Charley;  “didn’t  feel  like  it  this 
uorning.  Sims  aint  in  no  hurry,  no  way.  I’ll 
jegin  to-morrow,  if  the  boys  don’t  go  fishing;  and 
Ellet,  when  I do  build  that  fence  he’ll  have  a 
aummer.  I can  build  more  fence  in  a day,  and 
)uild  it  straighter,  than  ary  other  man  in  Fairview 
I^ounty.” 

“What  are  you  going  to  take,  Charley.!”’  asked 
Ellet.  In  all  the  worker’s  boasting  there  was  an 
indercurrent  of  pleading  in  a different  tongue, 
vhich  ran  this  way : “Ask  me  to  drink.  Ask  me 
0 drink.  Ask  me  to  drink.”  Ellet  could  no  more 
disregard  it  than  he  could  the  man’s  presence. 


164 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


And  when  Charley  drank,  the  boys  drank.  I 
made  quite  a wreck  of  the  bill  the  sheriff  threv 
down.  Ringer  saw  that,  and,  remembering  las 
night,  rather  sympathized  with  Ellet.  Ringei 
knew  all  about  the  escapade  in  the  gambling  room 
and  was  not  a man  to  steel  his  heart  against  suffer 
ing.  He  would  be  generous,  and  bestow  a favoi 
on  a losing  man. 

“Have  one  with  me,”  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


BEYOND  ALL  PARDON. 

As  he  neared  his  house,  Ellet  saw  his  mother’s 
saddle  horse  at  his  gate.  He  did  not  want  to 
meet  her,  yet  he  must.  Mrs.  Grant  met  him  at 
the  side  door,  and  took  his  hand  between  her  own 
hard  yet  gentle  palms.  She  was  a very  fountain 
of  kindness,  and  she  loved  so  to  comfort  and  caress 
her  children.  She  touched  his  face,  and  studied 
him  sharply,  while  her  tongue  was  busy  with 
pleasant  inquiries. 

“You  look  so  worried,  dear.  Father  was  too 
hard  with  you  yesterday,  but  he  doesn’t  mean  to 
be.  He  loves  you,  Ellet.  And  you  have  fever, 
too;  and  your  breath  is  bad.”  This  without  a 
thought  of  probing.  “You  must  do  something, 
or  you  will  both  be  sick.  See  Esther,  too.  She 
isn’t  well.  You  don’t  take  care  of  her.  Why, 
we  thought  what  a great  thing  it  was  going  to 
be  when  you  were  sheriff  iind  lived  in  town,  and 
Esther  kept  house  for  you.  Do  you  remember — ” 

“Mother,  for  mercy’s  sake,  hush!”  cried  her 
tortured  son,  almost  beside  himself.  It  was  the 


ISB 


166 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


last  addition  to  the  crushing  burden  whose  harass 
ing  fragments  had  worn  quite  to  the  quick. 

“Why,  Ellet,”  says  the  mother,  not  in  a harshei 
but  in  a gently  protesting  tone,  “do  I bother  youl 
Have  I said  something  to  wound  you.^”  Ther 
the  dignity  of  maternity  tempered  a little  thf 
boundless  charity,  and  endless  self-forgetfulness 
“Maybe  you  need  a word  or  two.  Let  mothei 
show  you  where — ” 

“ I will  not  stand  it.  I tell  you  to  be  still.  ] 
am  not  a child.” 

“No,  you  are  a man.  If  you  were  a child  ] 
could  not  blame  you  when  your  plain  duty  wat 
neglected.  You  are  a man  and  must  face  these 
things.  No  one  will  be  kinder  than  your  mothei 
in  telling  you  the  truth;  but  you  must  hear  it 
Where  were  you,  and  where  was  your  sistei 
last — ” 

“ Mother,  I swear  to  God  if  you  don’t  stop  I 
will  put  you  out  of  my  house.  What  possessei 
you  to  go  in  this  way.?  What  do  you  mean.?” 

“I  mean  that  it  is  high  time  you  faced  the  truth. 
Listen,  Ellet.  This  can’t  go  on.  Look  where 
you  are  standing.  See  where  you  came  from. 
See  where  you  both  are  going.  Remember,  it  is 
not  you  alone  who  stands  or  falls,  but  your  sister — ’ 

He  had  been  moving  about  the  room  swiftly, 
burning  with  suppressed  anger,  pierced  with  the 


BEYOND  ALL  PARDON. 


167 


consciousness  of  a wrong  so  great  he  was  only 
dimly  beginning  to  realize  it.  As  she  persisted 
with  a mother’s  freedom,  yet  with  a mother’s 
tenderness,  even  to  the  last,  it  seemed  a whip  of 
scorpions  had  stung  his  flesh  in  each  word  she 
uttered.  So  exasperating  was  her  perfect  fear- 
lessness, her  disregard  of  his  authority,  that  at  the 
final  charge  of  trusts  betrayed,  he  sprang  forward 
and  grasped  her  shoulder  roughly. 

The  good  woman  was  not  facing  him  at  the 
moment,  for  he  had  passed  behind  her  in  his  caged 
pacing  about  the  floor.  But  the  instant  the  hand 
alighted  his  mother  started  and  turned  upon  him 
such  a countenance  as  few  sons — pray  God — ever 
see.  She  did  not  flinch  or  try  to  escape  him. 
She  only  met  his  eyes,  and  blazed  the  love  that 
spanned  his  thirty  years,  clear  back  of  birth, 
straight  in  the  face  so  touched  and  marred  by 
passion.  Esther  ran  weeping  from  the  room,  and 
for  a moment  this  tableau  rested. 

But  some  devil  hot  from  hell  whispered,  “You 
are  a man.  You  must  be  respected.”  And  he 
lifted  his  threatening  finger  before  his  mother’s  face, 
and  said,  stooping  forward  in  rage  and  warning: 

“ Now,  stop ! ” He  was  livid  with  passion  and 
strong  drink. 

“ You  struck  me,  Ellet,”  she  said,  quite  breath- 
lessly. 


168 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


He  made  no  response,  and  she  turned  from  him 
slowly,  amazement  melting  again  to  mother  love, 
her  startled  eyes  softening  to  the  tenderness  that 
came  so  straight  from  the  heart.  She  found  her 
wraps,  tied  the  black  bonnet  on  over  the  smooth 
gray  hairs,  then  went  from  the  house  alone  and 
silently.  Without  assistance  she  led  her  pony  to 
the  block,  without  assistance  she  mounted  him, 
and  without  one  sign  of  penitence  from  the  man 
who  was  carrying  her  flesh  and  blood — aye,  and 
her  heavy  heart — down  to  ruin  with  him,  she  rode 
slowly  away. 

She  rode  slowly  away,  sitting  upright  and  weep- 
ing silently  as  the  first  miles  were  passed,  then 
sobbing  and  clinging  to  the  saddle  horns  as  the  way 
grew  longer,  then  stopping  and  dismounting  finally, 
too  weak  to  keep  her  seat.  Heaven  was  kind  to  her, 
and  no  one  came  that  way.  She  sat  by  the  road- 
side, near  her  wondering  beast,  and  poured  out  her 
cruel  load  of  sorrows.  With  them  went  the  godlike 
prayer  that  though  this  cup  might  not  pass  by, 
some  touch  of  grace  might  find  a blessing  in  it. 

She  could  not  mount  again,  and  walked  home 
wearily. 

When  Esther  returned  the  room  was  empty. 
Ellet  had  gone  down  town.  He  would  teach  her 
a lesson,  too.  He  had  not  meant  to  touch  his 
mother,  but  now  that  it  was  done,  he  would  not 


BEYOND  ALL  PARDON. 


169 


be  SO  unmanly  as  to  show  a sign  of  relenting.  He 
tried  to  contend  he  was  not  to  blame.  Any  man 
would  be  justified  in  doing  the  same  thing  under 
the  same  circumstances. 

But  it  was  not  easy.  Boy  and  man,  he  had  never 
lacked  loving.  Never  once  had  a hand  been  raised 
against  him,  however  perverse,  however  heartless 
his  youthful  wrongs  might  be.  Never  once  had 
he  felt  the  weight  of  a finger  in  punishment, 
nor  ever  seen  the  brow  contract  in  threatenings. 
Gentleness,  kindness,  patience  had  been  the  cords 
that  braided,  bound,  the  family  as  one.  Not  a 
reasonable  wish  had  ever  gone  ungratified  in  all 
these  years.  Not  an  hour  of  pain  nor  a day  of 
disappointment,  but  tenderness  and  sympathy  had 
lightened  the  burden  and  hastened  relief.  And 
he  had  not  been  insensible  to  all  this. 

Ellet  had  dwelt  in  such  good-fellowship  with 
father,  mother  and  sisters.  They  were  comrades 
with  him,  strengthened  by  his  power  and  charmed 
by  his  grace.  He  had  been  a sort  of  centre  about 
which  all  willingly  revolved,  yet  had  been  noble 
enough  to  never  for  an  instant  arrogate  dominance. 
For  all  their  goodness  he  knew  he  had  given  a 
man’s  most  rich  return — he  had  been  worthy  of  it. 
Never  till  now,  when  all  the  world  seemed  out  of 
joint,  had  one  shadow  come  between  him  and  his 
kindred. 


170 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


And  it  was  bitter.  As  the  exhilarated  brain 
became  a dull,  aching  brain,  that  instant  in  his 
sitting  room  swelled  to  centuries  of  sin,  which 
nothing  could  atone.  His  own  mother?  Did 
this  hand  touch  mother?  She  who  had — 

Here,  this  was  madding.  He  must  tide  it  over 
some  way.  More  liquor  would  do  it.  No,  liquor 
had  caused  this  very  thing.  What  matter?  He 
must  forget  it  now  or  go  crazy.  After  awhile — 
to-morrow — any  time  — he  could  get  himself 
together,  and  think  this  out.  But  now — 

“Jap,  give  me  a little  rye.” 

Jap  complied,  and  then  mentally  weighed  the 
man  before  him. 

“At  first  they  own  Sautern;  in  the  middle  it’s  a 
stand-off ; at  the  end,  Sautern  owns  them.  Ellet’s 
about  ready  to  deed  himself  over,  and  it’s  a little 
early,  too.” 


CHAPTER  XX. 


AFTER  THAT — THE  DELUGE. 

The  campaign  was  drawing  to  a close.  It  had 
been  an  unusually  warm  one,  considering  that  no 
national  question  was  at  issue.  All  over  the  State 
the  Prohibitionists  had  been  very  active,  and  as 
the  final  day  drew  closer  they  became  jubilant. 
An  “off  year”  furnished  them  the  best  chance  to 
capture  the  legislature ; and,  the  law  once  enacted, 
they  had  abiding  faith  in  its  permanence  and 
enforcement.  The  men  against  them  had  watched 
the  contest  with  frown  and  thredt;  with  rising 
rage  as  the  spirits  of  the  crusaders  were  lifted  up, 
until  here  in  the  last  fortnight,  when  the  reports 
from  other  counties  showed  the  probable  triumph 
of  the-  new  creed,  nothing  short  of  curses  and 
violence  could  adequately  express  their  disappro- 
bation. 

The  Republican  was  in  the  fight  with  all  the 
editor’s  energy  and  enthusiasm.  Thompson  had 
had  his  way  with  Poole,  and,  his  friend  elected,  had 
clambered  back  into  the  party  fold  with  becoming 
meekness.  He  was  still  a stickler  for  what  he 


17X 


172 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


considered  his  position,  and  declined  with  thanks 
all  of  Sims’  or  Sautern’s  editorial  ravings.  Then 
he  squared  himself  by  belaboring  an  offender  with 
all  their  zest,  and  in  language  a great  deal  bet- 
ter than  they  could  have  used.  He  was  still  good 
friends  with  Poole;  and,  for  that  matter,  Poole 
seemed  to  fraternize  rather  amiably  with  all  the 
old  crowd.  He  chaffed  them  about  their  defeat 
two  years  ago,  and  they  cursed  him  in  round 
terms — which  meant  no  offense,  and  were  easily 
forgiven.  He  threatened  them  with  a severer 
calamity  this  fall,  and  they  told  him  to  make 
hay  while  the  sun  shone;  it  would  be  his  last 
chance. 

“You  aint  enforced  no  law,”  said  Sims,  “and 
when  we  down  you  this  fall  you  will  be  as  flat  as 
a pancake.  We  know  you,  Poole  and  we  won’t 
have  you.  And  the  Prohibs  know  you,  and  they 
will  be  done  with  you,  too.  What  you  going  at, 
anyhow,  when  this  term  is  over.^” 

“ Going  to  begin  on  my  next  term,”  replied  the 
prosecutor,  stoutly.  “ I have  enforced  no  new  law 
because  you  fellows  bought  up  the  legislature, 
and  did  not  give  us  any  to  enforce.  But  I have 
socked  four  convictions  home  under  the  old  law, 
and  that  is  as  much  as  you  want.  The  Prohibs 
know  I am  safe  enough.  Don’t  you  worry  about 
their  throwing  me  over.” 


AFTER  THAT— THE  DELUGE. 


173 


“ Suppose  we  buy  up  the  legislature  this  year, 
too,”  suggested  Haberly. 

“ Much  obliged  for  the  concession  that  it  will  be 
ours  to  sell.  But,  John,  I don’t  think  you  can  do 
it.  I figure  that  there  will  be  a majority  in  the 
house  pledged  to  a prohibitory  law.  You 
can’t  beat  that,  any  way  you  work.  Then  there 
will  be  seven  more — two  from  Allen  County,  and 
one  each  from  Vigo,  Morgan,  Fairview,  Porter 
and  Posey — who  will  be  elected  by  the  Prohibs 
against  straight  party  candidates.  That  will  make 
a pretty  steep  job  for  your  legislative  commission 
men  and  dealers  in  majorities.  In  this  county  the 
Prohibs  will  elect  all  they  are  after — me  and  the 
representative.  No,  mark  my  word,  John,  there 
will  be  a good  majority  pledged  for  prohibition.” 

“If  it  wasn’t  for  old  Wesley  Grant,”  sighed 
Sims,  dejectedly.  “ That  man  is  the  backbone  of 
the  whole  darned  fight  in  this  State.  He  goes  every- 
where. They  call  for  him  in  every  town  from 
South  Bend  to  Mt.  Vernon,  and  from  Richmond 
to  Terre  Haute.  The  old  traitor  seems  to  have 
set  the  whole  State  ablaze  with  his  foolishness. 
And  wherever  he  goes  he  makes  heaps  of  votes 
agin  us.” 

“Well,  he  won’t  make  no  more,”  said  Sautern 
confidently.  Poole  and  all  the  rest  looked  up  at 
the  oracle.  “ He  won’t  make  no  more  votes,  nor 


174  AN  INDIANA  MAN. 

no  more  speeches.  I tell  you  that,”  said  the  big 
man,  and  he  lifted  his  huge  frame  upright,  and 
sauntered  with  the  air  of  an  emperor  at  ease  over 
to  his  bar  room. 

“ What’s  Sautern  got.?”  asked  Sims. 

“ Something  on  the  sheriff,  I am  afraid,”  replied 
Haberly.  “ I have  tried  my  best  to  keep  Ellet 
out  of  that  man’s  way,  but  he  just  goes  back  there 
in  spite  of  me.  He  is  making  a wreck  of  himself. 
In  another  year  he  will  be  fit  for  an  asylum — and 
a poor-house,  too — if  he  keeps  on.” 

The  manager  read  some  undercurrent  of  ill 
omen  in  Sautern ’s  words,  and,  when  the  latter  had 
gone  some  minutes,  rose  and  followed  him  across 
the  street. 

“ I’ll  bet  a hundred  dollars  they  don’t  stop  old 
Wesley,”  said  Poole. 

“ I’ll  have  to  take  you,”  said  Brubaker. 

Over  at  the  saloon  Haberly  found  Sautern 
enjoying  a fresh  cigar,  and  sitting  in  the  cool 
breeze  at  the  back  window. 

“What  is  it  about  Wesley  Grant.?”  he  asked 
directly,  though  he  let  his  eyes  wander  carelessly 
out  across  the  river,  toward  the  pretty  home  of 
the  sheriff. 

“Well,  it’s  enough,”  vouchsafed  the  saloon 
keeper. 

“How  are  you  going  to  try  and  stop  him.?” 


AFTER  THAT— THE  DELUGE. 


176 


“Well,  I’ll  stop  him.” 

It  took  an  hour  of  questioning  to  bring  from 
Sautern  the  story  he  wished  to  tell,  and  intended 
telling,  yet  which  he  felt  the  greatest  disinclination 
to  giving  up  as  soon  as  he  found  some  man  who 
wanted  to  hear  it. 

Ellet  had  been  unfit  for  duty  three  several 
times,  a week  at  a time.  Men  said  he  was  sick, 
but  all  Fairvdew  knew  he  was  drunk.  He  had 
been  gambling  beyond  all  rules  of  prudence,  and 
had  lost  more  than  ' he  owned.  Uncle  Dave 
Edwards,  who  was  on  the  sheriff’s  bond,  had  been 
in  town  twice  to  see  about  it,  and  would  come 
again  to-morrow,  to  ask  release.  Either  Ellet 
must  fix  things  up — which  he  could  not  do — or 
they  would  take  the  office  from  him.  If  they 
went  through  his  books  to-day^they  would  find 
him  defaulter  for  thousands. 

Haberlywas  commissioned  to  see  Wesley  when 
he  arrived,  and  put  the  facts  before  him. 

The  train  rolled  up  to  the  station  with  that  bell- 
ringing and  whistle-blowing  which  Indiana  laws 
had  conjured  into  one  unceasing  pandemonium. 
The  brakemen  and  conductor  stepped  down 
before  the  cars  stopped,  with  that  jaunty  air  they 
affect  in  the  country,  and  the  idle  crowd  gathered 
a little  closer  to  see  who  arrived  and  who 
departed. 


176 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


First  among  the  passengers  to  set  foot  on  the 
Fairview  platform  was  Wesley  Grant.  His  white 
hairs  were  crowned  with  a broad  slouch  hat;  his 
gray  clothes  were  the  garments  of  a man  of  means 
and  importance;  his  grip  was  the  ammunition 
wagon  of  a tireless  campaigner.  He  turned  from 
the  car  without  hesitation,  and  started  swiftly  up 
town.  John  Haberly  overtook  him. 

“ Helloa,  Wesley,”  he  said,  cordially,  “where 
have  you  been.?” 

Now,  Wesley  Grant  had  lived  a life  of  stern 
sincerity  for  so  long  that  any  simulation  was  dis- 
tasteful to  him.  He  thought  he  had  reason 
enough  for  distrusting  John  Haberly,  and  he  did 
distrust  him.  He  did  not  want  to  fraternize  with 
him,  and  he  did  not  want  to  pretend  he  did.  This 
campaign  had  taught  him  to  meet,  face  to  face, 
apologists  for  the  darkest  of  earth’s  damnations, 
yet  to  preserve  before  them  the  unruffled  front  of 
one  who  can  conserve  his  powers.  So  he  turned, 
met  the  frank'gaze  of  the  dexterous  manager,  and 
replied: 

“ I have  been  at  work  preparing  for  a Prohibi- 
tion legislature,  John.” 

“Are  you  going  to  elect  it.?” 

“We  will.”  This  with  a ringing  certainty,  and 
a lighting  smile  that  showed  how  sweet  was  the 
anticipation  of  victory. 


AFTER  THAT— THE  DELUGE. 


177 


“Wesley,  come  up  here  into  my  office.  I want 
to  talk  with  you  about  a matter  of  importance  to 
me,  but  of  more  importance  to  Ellet  and  yourself.” 
Haberly  had  paused  at  the  foot  of  his  stairs,  and 
as  Wesley  halted  near  him  the  two  men  fronted 
squarely.  There  was  warning  in  the  manager’s 
eyes,  but  the  glance  was  met  and  conquered  by 
the  older  man’s  stern  rectitude. 

“John,  I will  not  go  up  into  your  office.  If  you 
or  any  of  your  crowd  have  something  to  say  to 
me,  you  must  say  it  in  public.  I will  have  no 
misunderstanding  about  my  relations  with  the 
gang.” 

All  the  way  up  town  men  had  passed  them,  had 
pressed  up  to  shake  old  Wesley’s  hand  or  say  a 
word  of  greeting  or  encouragement.  While  these 
two  stood  here  quite  a group  surrounded  them, 
some  to  welcome  a leader  returned,  others  to 
stand  and  observe  them. 

“It  is  too  public  a place,”  said  Haberly,  with 
something  like  distress  in  his  voice.  “What  I 
have  to  say  will  be  better  said  in  private.”  He 
waited.  Old  Wesley’s  smile  of  strength  and  con- 
fidence vanished.  His  reception  at  his  own  town, 
after  successes  at  many  others,  had  gratified  him. 
The  tone  of  John  Haberly’s  warning  had  banished 
it  all.  Yet  he  was  a Spartan.  He  knew  his  hands 
were  clean,  and  all  the  light  of  all  the  universe 


178 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


might  be  turned  upon  them.  It  could  disclose  no 
shame. 

“Speak  out,  John.  If  you  are  going  to  ask  me 
to  name  my  price  for  silence,  say  so.  If  you  are 
going  to  threaten  me,  let  that  be  public,  too.  I 
cannot  afford,  and  my  party  cannot  afford,  to  have 
anything  done  in  the  dark.  Speak  out.” 

Haberly  hesitated. 

“Pick  out  any  three  good,  trusty  men,”  he  said 
at  last,  just  as  the  veteran  showed  by  his  attitude 
that  the  conference  was  at  an  end;  “pick  them 
out,  and  come  up.  I cannot  tell  you  here.” 

The  old  man  grew  paler.  Evidently,  affairs 
were  serious.  But  he  was  resolute,  and  through 
the  dread  of  something,  not  all  unexpected,  he 
forced  a smile  to  his  lips  and  replied,  shaking  his  j 
head  as  one  not  easily  deceived: 

“You  cannot  compromise  me,  Haberly.  I will 
not  go  up  in  your  office.  I have  no  business  there. 
If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me,  come  to  Poole’s 
office.  I will  be  there  for  an  hour.  But  you  better 
bring  a friend,  for  I will  bring  one.  We  want  to 
understand  each  other.” 

Half  an  hour  later  the  old  man  mounted  the  | 
creaking  steps,  followed  by  two  friends  whom  he  i 
could  trust.  He  was  gay  with  bits  of  cheer  from  i 
the  work  in  other  fields,  and  filled  to  exuberance  ' 
with  a nervous  energy.  But  he  felt  as  he  lifted  h 


AFTER  THAT— THE  DELUGE. 


179 


one  foot  above  the  other  that  he  was  climbing  to 
doom.  It  abated  not  a whit  of  the  man’s  courage 
or  unquailing  front,  but  in  his  heart  he  found  the 
picture  of  a man  condemned,  mounting  the  rough 
stairway  to  strangulation.  He  thought  of  the 
bravado  some  of  them  had  shown,  and  in  the 
darkness  of  this  moment  he  could  find  no  nobler 
sense  to  buoy  up  his  tortured  spirit.  The  exer- 
tion made  his  heart  beat  quicker,  and  a flitting 
pain  there  came  to  warn  him.  He  read  in  that 
instant  of  sharp  suffering  what  the  end  would  be ; 
and  in  that  consummation,  which  was  far  lighter 
than  the  way  that  lay  between,  he  waked  the  forces 
that  he  needed  now. 

“I’ll  die  game,”  he  muttered,  and  threw  back 
his  shoulders  as  he  struggled  for  air;  he  tossed 
his  hands  far  apart,  as  if  the  proof  that  shackles 
were  not  on  them  was  needed,  and  was  grateful. 

Poole  placed  chairs  for  his  visitors.  Haberly 
was  already  there  with  Vernon,  one  of  the  bonds- 
men, and  with  Petcher,  Uncle  Dave  Edwards’ 
attorney. 

“Well,  John,”  said  Wesley,  “what  do  you  want 
to  say.^” 

“It  aint  an  easy  thing,”  began  the  politician,  but 
he  was  interrupted. 

“ I am  not  looking  for  easy  things.  Don’t  spare 
me,  if  you  can  bear  it.” 


180 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


The  younger  man  was  stung  to  lay  aside  all 
courtesy.  Something  in  his  conscience  hardened 
him  toward  that  white-haired  veteran.  We  are 
told  that  nothing  so  adds  to  the  anger  one  feels 
toward  a man  as  the  recollection  that  one  has 
injured  him. 

“ Ellet  is  short  in  his  accounts.” 

“Well,  which  of  you  got  the  money 
“And  his  bondsmen  want  to  get  out.  Unless 
the  books  are  squared  Ellet  will  be  arrested.” 

. “How  much  does  he  lack.?” 

“It  will  take  four  thousand  dollars  to  settle 
everything  without  prosecution.  Then  he  must 
resign.” 

“Is  that  all  you  want  to  say.?” 

“Not  quite.  You  can  save  the  office  to  him, 
after  his  shortage  is  fixed  up,  and  do  it  easily.” 
“How.?” 


“Stay  at  home  till  after  election.” 

“Will  that  be  enough.?” 

“You  might  write  a letter,  declaring  against 
certain  candidates  that  the  Prohibs  are  running; 
but  go  to  no  more  meetings,  make  no  more 
speeches,  and  promise  your  vote  for  the  straight 
nominees.  After  that — ” 

“The  deluge!”  exclaimed  the  farmer,  con- 
temptuously. “ Say,  John,  you  fellows  are  after 
the  wrong  man.  You  cannot  dictate  one  thing  to 


AFTER  THAT— THE  DELUGE. 


181 


me.  I am  too  old.  You  are  too  corrupt.  Poole, 
write  me  a power  of  attorney.  I have  not  half 
that  amount  on  hand,  but  I give  you  full  authority 
to  collect,  draw  what  I have  on  deposit,  and  mort- 
gage or  sell  the  Pretty  Lake  farm  to  raise  all  that 
is  needed.  If  it  comes  to  that,  John,  I can  settle 
the  shortages  of  your  whole  gang — shortages  that 
you  always  cover  up  if  the  rascal  remains 
useful.” 

There  was  a tinge  of  boasting  in  the  taunt.  He 
seemed  to  need  some  little  brutality  in  this  bitter 
struggle. 

“Now,  Poole” — he  had  risen  after  signing  the 
paper — “stand  between  the  boy  and  all  danger. 
Save  me  all  you  can,  but — save  him  first,  Poole.” 

That  was  the  certain  strain  of  weakness.  Voice 
and  manner  published  his  feelings.  He  turned 
quickly,  and  was  half  way  to  the  door  when 
Haberly  called  out: 

“ How  about  keeping  him  in  office  } How  about 
you  helping  us  in  the  election.^” 

“Keep  him  in  office,  or  put  him  out,  John.  Do 
just  as  you  like.  I am  saying,  and  every  dollar  I 
own  is  saying,  that  no  child  of  mine  shall  be  dis- 
honored while  I can  prevent  it.  But  you  can  get 
nothing  more  from  me.  Only  this” — and  he  turned 
swiftly  and  with  flashing  eyes  on  the  trio — “ I’ll 
double  my  efforts  to  down  the  ring.  If  this  is  my 


182 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


last  year  on  earth  I shall  die  making  odious  the 
engine  that  has  crushed  my  boy.” 

He  went  down  stairs  alone,  but  for  an  instant 
after  reaching  the  street  he  could  not  see  the  men 
who  spoke  to  him  in  passing.  He  was  dizzy  and 
faint.  He  had  consciousness  enough  to  know 
what  was  the  matter,  and  how  to  escape.  Turning 
his  blanched  face  to  the  wall,  he  rested  his  hand 
against  the  building,  and  seemed  to  be  studying, 
reflecting,  meditating  some  puzzling  question. 
But  he  knew  he  could  not  long  remain  so.  Others 
passed,  and  either  spoke  or  hesitated  curiously. 
He  thought  again,  “But  Pll  die  game,”  and  with 
that  same  sensation  of  climbing  to  a scaffold,  he 
roused  himself,  and  faced  the  future. 

Alice  had  driven  to  town  to  meet  him,  and  he 
walked  up  to  Ellet’s  house  where  he  knew  she 
would  wait  for  him.  The  girls  saw  him  coming 
and  met  him  at  the  gate,  urging  him  to  go  in 
and  rest.  But  he  declined,  though  not  roughly. 
He  must  hurry  home,  for  to-morrow  the  Repub- 
licans held  a big  meeting  in  town,  which  he  must 
attend;  and  in  the  evening  he  must  address  his 
friends  at  the  court-house  square.  He  kissed 
Esther  with  a tenderness  that  surprised  her,  used 
as  she  was  to  the  expression  of  paternal  affection. 
As  he  lifted  his  face  from  hers,  the  old  man’s 
hand  rested  on  her  shoulder  a moment,  then 


AFTER  THAT— THE  DELUGE. 


183 


passed  gently  upward  until  it  was  laid  lovingly 
about  her  head.  She  raised  her  eyes  again  to  his, 
and  then  flushed  hotly  with  what  she  read  there. 

That  was  all.  He  walked  away,  helped  Alice 
in  the  buggy,  and  drove  home. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


IN  CIDER-MAKING  TIME. 

Early  next  morning  Ellet  came  to  the  farm. 
He  wore  his  best  clothes,  and  had  something  of 
his  olden  air  of  tidiness  and  good  keeping.  He 
left  the  team  at  the  hitching  post,  adjusted  the 
harness  a little,  passing  around  the  horses,  and  so 
came  to  the  gate.  Right  there  he  was  met  by 
his  father.  He  had  not  been  at  the  homestead 
since  that  Sunday  when  he  drove  away  with  the 
indignant  sense  of  superiority.  In  what  abase- 
ment, with  what  shamed  gratitude  he  now  re- 
turned. He  lifted  the  latch  and  began  to  thank 
the  patriarch  for  the  great  service  of  yesterday. 

“Ellet,”  said  the  old  man,  interrupting  his 
somewhat  stammering  speech,  “this  farm  isn’t 
big  enough  for  you  and  me  too.  You  better  stay 
away  till  I get  through  with  it.  It  rests  with  you 
whether  you  take  it  then.  But  while  I am  here 
you  can’t  come  in.” 

“Why,  father,”  he  began.  This  blow  was  so 
unexpected,  yet  so  richly  merited,  that  this  young 
man  felt  the  acme  of  his  troubles  had  indeed  been 


184 


IN  CIDEB-MAKINQ  TIME. 


185 


reached;  that  the  keenest  possible  retribution  had 
now  been  visited  upon  him.  Yet  he  could  not 
turn  away  so.  He  knew  his  degradation,  but  the 
sense  of  a home,  a haven,  here  was  so  strong 
that  it  seemed  his  father  could  not  mean  so  much 
of  sternness;  and  he  said  again — “Why,  father!” 

“Young  man,  you  struck  your  mother.  When 
you  can  wipe  that  out,  come  home.” 

And  the  culprit  turned  away  without  one  word 
of  justification.  He  went  to  the  team  again,  un- 
tied the  horses  blindly,  climbed  in  the  buggy,  and 
drove  away. 

The  distant  forests  have  changed  from  deep 
green  to  crimson  and  brown.  The  hedgeways 
are  swaying  slightly,  and  dropping  leaves  with 
every  motion.  The  oak  trees  by  the  roadside 
have  painted  their  foliage  a rich  wine  color,  and 
the  hickory  that  stands  on  the  line  fence  row 
sends  down  shelled  nuts  as  he  passes.  Hazel 
bushes  hold  up  great  handfuls  of  brown  treasures 
in  wide-open  husks,  and  tempt  him  to  desert  the 
shadow  of  life  for  a day  in  the  sun.  Squirrels  are 
bolder.  Frosts  have  warned  them  of  cheerless 
days  when  the  improvident  must  suffer,  and  they 
scamper  along  the  brown  top  rails  of  fences,  with 
pouches  full  of  provisions.  Weeds  have  granted 
a truce,  and  ceased  growing,  and  stand  with 
drooped  head,  as  if  regretting  the  work  they  gave 


186 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


the  husbandman.  Corn  is  maturing.  Its  tassels 
have  lost  their  lustre,  and  waft  withered  blossoms 
to  the  soft,  warm  ground.  The  blades  have 
caught  the  blighting  frost,  and  bend  their  broad, 
velvety  surfaces  in  sheer  regret.  The  husk  is 
gray  and  dry.  It  breaks  from  the  swelling  ear, 
and  reveals  sharp  rows  of  grain,  swiftly  hardening 
in  the  air  and  sun.  Through  the  long  aisles  of 
the  field  vagrant  breezes  stray,  and  the  tall,  slen- 
der maize  bows  with  a hum  of  homage,  and  a 
rustle  of  respectful  applause. 

Grass  on  the  roadside  is  dun  in  color.  It  has 
finished  its  work  in  the  passing  year,  and  has 
strengthened  its  hold  in  the  earth,  forgetful  of 
appearances  above  ground. 

The  very  road  is  an  autumn  highway.  The 
track  is  level  and  hard  and  smooth;  the  dust  is 
heavy  and  does  not  rise.  The  air  is  as  clear  as 
an  ocean  cavern,  and  sounds  from  the  woods  drift 
across  the  brown  fields,  mellowed  but  audible;  and 
over  all  swings  the  glorious  haze  of  Indian  sum- 
mer. Far  away  banks  of  blue  smoke  hide  the 
outlines  of  the  hills,  and  earth  is  one  mirage  of 
heaven. 

When  Ellet  reached  town  that  night,  the  bur- 
den of  his  punishment  heavy  upon  him,  he  was 
conscious  of  but  one  thing — a strong  revulsion 
from  the  influences  that  had  debased  him.  It  did 


IN  CIDER-MAKING  TIME. 


187 


not  amount  to  rage  against  any  one,  and  was  the 
more  likely  to  last  that  it  was  rather  subdued  in 
color.  But  he  had  no  desires,  felt  no  tendencies 
of  taste  or  habit  to  turn  in  and  follow  any  of  the 
paths  that  had  led  him  from  rectitude  and  manli- 
ness. He  went  home  and  put  up  the  team,  then 
sat  on  the  porch  and  read  till  tea  was  ready.  He 
was  not  effusive  in  his  kindness  to  Esther,  and 
was  rather  more  alert  than  in  the  old  days.  No 
reference  to  the  recent  past  was  made  by  either  of 
them,  but  she  could  see  that  between  to-day  and 
yesterday  a wall  was  builded  that  would  not  be 
thrown  down. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THEY  MET  IN  AN  UPPER  ROOM. 

Major  Poole  made  an  accurate  forecast  of  the 
result  of  the  election.  In  the  legislature  there 
was  a majority  of  ten  who  had  been  elected  on 
the  platform  demanding  a prohibitory  law. 

For  the  first  time  it  seemed  certain  the  measure 
would  pass.  No  one  appeared  to  question  that. 
Papers  and  politicians  all  over  the  State  conceded 
victory  to  the  ^ temperance  men,  and  trimmers 
were  busy  getting  ready  for  a change  of  heart. 
The  new  forces  were  held  well  in  hand  by  Dean, 
of  Fairview.  He  was  admittedly  the  ablest  and 
shrewdest  man  in  the  new  army.  His  comrades 
held  aloof,  and  when  the  caucus  nominees  strug- 
gled for  a mastery,  he  named  the  speaker.  When 
the  managers  of  the  old  party  came  to  him.  Dean 
was  firm.  He  could  afford  to  be. 

“You  fellows  choso  Holiowell,”  he  said,  “ and 
we  will  help  you  elect  him  speaker.  If  you  don’t, 
we  will  vote  for  a straight  Prohibitionist,  and  the 
Democrats  will  elect  the  presiding  officer.  Hollo- 
well  is  as  good  a Republican  as  there  is  in  your 


188 


THEY  MET  IN  AN  UPPER  ROOM. 


189 


party,  and  he  is  satisfactory  to  us.  We  care 
nothing  for  the  office,  but  we  want  the  law.  If 
you  want  to  run  the  House,  let  us  have  our  way 
about  this  matter.  If  you  don’t,  you  wont  run  it 
— that’s  all.” 

There  was  no  use  arguing  with  him.  He  could 
keep  that  little  herd  of  new  party  men  together, 
and  keep  them  voting  as  principle  dictated,  till  the 
Democrats  filled  every  office  in  the  legislature. 
That  was  a consummation  devoutly  to  be  dreaded, 
and  they  knew  that  if  he  remained  firm  they  must 
surrender  something. 

Dean  must  be  fixed. 

They  went  to  him  next  day  with  a proposition. 
He  and  one  man  from  his  little  party  should  meet 
four  men  from  the  old  party,  and  they  would  map 
out  a programme.  Quarreling  would  do  no  good, 
and  might  do  a deal  of  harm — to  the  old 
party. 

“Aside  from  prohibition,  our  aims  are  the 
same,”  said  Tabor.  “ You  fellows  naturally  be- 
long to  our  crowd,  and  we  naturally  believe  in 
your  doctrine.  But  the  time  is  not  ripe  for  it  yet. 
Still,  if  you  insist  on  it,  and  the  people  seem  to 
demand  it,  we  will  have  to  adjust  matters.  Now, 
what  we  want  is  to  know  just  what  you  want.  I 
guess  things  can  be  arranged  so  you  can  be  grati- 
fied, and  we  can  control  the  House.” 


190 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


“ Give  US  the  law,  and  you  can  have  the  offices,” 
said  Dean,  sententiously.  “ That’s  Wesley  Grant’s 
doctrine.” 

Dean  and  his  confrere  went  to  the  place  appoint- 
ed. He  was  old  enough  to  have  known  better; 
and,  indeed,  he  had  a premonition  that  the  stern 
sense  of  the  farmer  chief  would  have  opposed  the 
step.  But  he  trusted  his  skill  and  his  knowledge 
of  men  to  bring  him  out  in  no  way  loser. 

It  was  in  an  upper  room  of  a great  hotel. 
When  Dean  and  his  companion  entered  they 
found  a rather  jolly  party.  A State  officer  and 
a well-known  lobbyist  were  present.  They 
had  been  courting  the  cup  which  cheers  and  oft 
inebriates.  With  them  was  an  ex-State  official  from 
an  adjoining  commonwealth,  and  an  ex-colonel  of 
national  reputation.  The  latter,  whom  Dean  took 
to  be  visitors,  were  introduced  with  hearty,  boist- 
erous formality  of  State  capital  life,  and  then  all 
resumed  their  chairs.  The  Colonel  was  telling  a 
story,  and  the  State  officer  urged  him  to  go  back 
and  begin  again,  for  the  benefit  of  Dean  and  his 
friend.  When  it  was  done  all  hands  laughed  very 
heartily,  and  the  dignitary  from  a sister  State  was 
reminded  of  an  incident  somewhat  like  it.  While 
he  was  talking  a waiter  came  in  with  more  bottles 
and  glasses,  and  the  lobbyist  began  pouring  out 
wine. 


THEY  MET  IN  AN  UPPER  ROOM. 


191 


“ Mr.  Dean,  do  you  drink he  asked,  ver}^ 
respectfully. 

“No,  sir,”  said  the  prohibition  leader;  but  he 
felt  rather  uncomfortable. 

“ I hope  you  take  no  offense  at  our  touching  it 
lightly.” 

“ We  can  stand  it  if  you  can,”  said  the  man  who 
had  come  here  to  dictate.  Then  the  story  was 
resumed.  The  marks  of  conviviality  were  removed, 
and  for  a time  the  most  decorous  air  pervaded  the 
room.  But  not  one  of  the  gentlemen  left,  even 
when  the  subject  which  brought  Dean  and  his 
friend  was  broached.  It  seemed  a thing  they 
could  all  talk  about.  Dean  had  a very  definite 
idea  of  what  he  wanted,  and  could  not  be 
induced  to  recede  from  the  position  originally 
taken. 

The  large  argument  of  what  patriotism  de- 
manded was  used.  The  ultimate  effect  this  stand 
would  have  on  the  party  was  shown  him.  The 
lesser  importance  of  immediate  prohibition  was 
pointed  out.  But  he  stood  firm.  It  was  now  or 
never  with  him. 

“ Take  the  offices  and  give  us  the  law.  If  you 
don’t  fix  that  up  we  will  beat  every  man  your 
caucus  names  to-morrow.  We  can  do  it.  We 
have  been  chosen  and  pledged  to  do  it,  and  it  is 
right  we  should.” 


192 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


There  was  no  answering  that  argument.  So 
they  rested  awhile,  and  talked  of  other  affairs. 

“ This  isn’t  a matter  just  affecting  Indiana,” 
said  the  visiting  dignitary,  returning  later  to.  the 
charge.  “Its  influence  reaches  to  other  States. 
If  }mu  adopt  this  amendment  it  will  split  your  old 
party  wide  open.  More  than  that,  it  will  draw 
after  it  a like  action  in  other  States.  Your  success 
in  Indiana  means  a like  success  In  at  least  five  other 
States  here  in  the  middle  West.  And  that  means 
the  end  of  the  Republican  party;  for,  although 
all  Prohibitionists  are  Republicans,  all  Republicans 
are  not  Prohibitionists.  Thousands  of  them  will 
go  over  to  the  enemy.  You  can  read  a warning 
in  Glick,  of  Kansas.  What  happened  then  and 
there  will  happen  again  and  will  happen  every- 
where— in  every  State  that  nurses  this  heresy — till 
men  will  learn  to  take  what  they  can  get,  and 
wait  for  prohibition  till  the  country  is  ready  for 
it.  Surely  you  don’t  want  to  see  every  northern 
State  lost  to  the  Republicans.” 

“ No,  I don’t.  But  take  your  State,  for  instance. 
It  is  not  corrupt  as  is  Indiana.  Why,  here  the 
saloon  has  come  to  be  what  the  church  once  was 
in  politics.  It  is  not  only  supreme  authority — ^it 
is  all  the  authority  there  is.  Things  have  come 
to  such  a pass  that  every  measure  must  be  approved 
by  the  rum  power  before  it  can  be  adopted  by  the 


THEY  MET  IN  AN  UPPER  ROOM. 


193 


people.  What  that  power  wants  the  people  have 
to  give;  what  it  don’t  want,  no  one  is  strong 
enough  to  give — unless  we  are  to-day.  It  convicts, 
acquits,  dignifies,  abases,  enforces,  annuls,  enacts 
anew — and  wields  in  all  respects  the  imperial 
power.  No  other  State  is  as  saturated  with  it  as 
is  Indiana.” 

“ There’s  where  you  are  wrong,”  said  the  visitor. 
“ You  give  yourself  that  bad  name,  and  without 
reason.  Ohio,  Illinois,  any  of  them,  are  worse. 
If  Justice  is  asleep  in  Indiana,  in  the  rest  of  them 
she  is  dead.  If  Indiana  is  in  slavery,  they  are  in 
chains.  If  Indiana  is  fevered  in  the  fumes  of  cor- 
ruption, they  are  festering  and  rotten  with  politi- 
cal leprosy.  I know,  for  I’ve  been  there.  You 
are  wrong.  You  are  wrong.” 

Then  the  Colonel  began  the  attack.  He  painted 
with  the  eolors  of  patriotism — that  meant  party- 
ism.  He  showed  how  first  of  all  the  men  who  had 
fought  and  bled  were  for  the  old  party,  and 
against  any  person  or  any  movement  that  harmed 
it.  He  pointed  out  how  it  had  punished  certain 
men  and  delayed  certain  measures  simply  because 
they  were  forced  upon  it  before  it  was  ready;  and 
how  it  had  never  failed  to  honor  the  men  and 
adopt  the  measures  that  wisely  consulted  party 
interests.  He  deprecated  treason  everywhere; 
and  the  effect  of  this  prohibition  movement,  how- 


194 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


ever  honestly  endorsed,  worked  treason  constantly. 

After  him  came  Tabor. 

“Dean,  you  and  I were  both  elected  to  this 
legislature,  and  sworn  to  do  our  duty  as  we  could 
see  it.  I am  in  the  same  boat  with  you.  I want 
to  do  what  is  right  by  my  constituents  as  much 
as  you  do  by  yours.  If  a majority  in  Fairview 
can  direct  and  bind  you,  a majority  in  Vigo  can 
direct  and  bind  me.  We  must  together  do  the 
best  we  can  for  the  people  of  both  counties.” 

The  State  officer  had  engaged  Dean’s  friend  in 
conversation,  and  took  him  into  an  adjoining  room 
to  prove  by  statistics  that  a certain  popular  epi- 
gram was  a popular  error. 

“Now,  Dean,”  continued  Tabor,  “your  people 
want  a prohibitory  law  before  anything  else.  My 
people  want  it  too,  but  they  demand  some  other 
things  first.  There  are  thirteen  of  you,  all  bound 
to  secure  that  one  thing,  whether  anything  else  is 
done  here  this  winter.  There  are  137  of  us,  all 
insisting  on  some  other  things  with  equal  earnest- 
ness.” 

The  Colonel  and  the  visiting  statesman  went 
over  to  the  window  to  prosecute  a warm  argu- 
ment as  to  the  terms  of  a certain  surrender.  Dean 
and  Tabor  talked  on.  In  half  an  hour  the  State 
officer  and  Dean’s  friend  came  back  from  the 
j::djoining  room,  and  the  latter  was  jubilant  because 


THEY  MET  IN  AN  UPPER  ROOM. 


195 


he  had  convinced  his  companion  the  epigram  was 
not  an  error.  He  was  quite  in  good  humor  with 
himself,  and  was  inclined  to  be  magnanimous. 

The  conversation  became  general.  No  one 
asked  what  Dean  and  Tabor  had  concluded  to  do. 
A wider  range  of  topics  engaged  them  all.  A 
waiter  came  up  with  more  bottles  and  glasses,  and 
again  the  bibulous  brethren  drank.  This  time 
they  did  not  apologize  for  the  offensive  act.  It 
was  so  common  here  that  it  was  not  considered  in 
ill  taste  at  any  time. 

Dean  and  his  friend  went  back  to  their  hotel. 

“Well,  how  do  we  stand  inquired  the  lobbyist. 

“Dean’s  all  right,”  responded  Tabor.  “He  does 
not  come  very  high,  either.” 

“ His  friend  is  rather  an  inexpensive  luxury,  too,” 
said  the  State  officer. 

“ Legislators  are  getting  cheaper  every  year,” 
remarked  the  Colonel. 

“To  sum  up,  then,”  said  the  lobbyist, lifting  the 
straightened  fingers  of  his  left  hand  and  touching 
them  each  in  turn  with  the  index  finger  of  his 
right,  “there’s  Fletcher  will  vote  against  the  reso- 
lution whenever  we  want  him  to,  if  his  little  boy 
is  made  a page.”  And  he  tallied  one.  “ Peyton 
will  do  whatever  we  want,  and  has  signed  a receipt 
for  the  purchase  money.”  And  he  tallied  again. 
“Winterman  will  move  to  strike  out  the  enacting 


196 


. AN  INDIANA  MAN 


clause,  but  his  friend,  the  warden,  must  be  white- 
washed.” Three  fingers  were  now  bent  over, 
and  the  fourth  was  carried  down  with  a sort  of 
impetuous,  triumphant  charge,  as  the  man  con- 
cluded— “and  Dean  is  ours  all  winter.” 

Hollowell  headed  the  list  of  caucus'  nominees, 
and  all  over  the  State  the  news  was  heralded  that 
the  Prohibitionists  had  dictated  it.  They  com- 
manded the  situation.  Already  a committee  was 
busy  drafting  the  bill  for  a prohibitory  law,  which 
would  now  certainly  be  passed  by  the  House. 
The  Senate  would  not  dare  defeat  it,  and  the 
Governor  would  sign  it.  A feeling  of  devout 
thankfulness  went  up  all  over  the  State.  The 
faithful  were  never  before  so  near  success.  Oppo- 
sition to  the  movement  was  not  loudly  expressed. 

If  one  might  judge  by  what  was  read  and  heard, 
one  would  surely  conclude  that  the  only  active 
sentiment  abroad  in  Indiana  was  in  favor  of  the 
amendment. 

This  ominous  silence  preceded  a storm.  The 
Dean  bill  had  been  presented  to  the  House,  and 
referred  to  a committee.  It  was  published  all 
over  the  State,  but  the  papers  that  presented  it 
had  nothing  to  say  either  in  praise  or  censure.  It 
came  up  in  committee,  and  was  favorably  reported 
with  scarcely  the  change  of  a line.  Excepting 
that  Winterman  had  been  grievously  offended  by  - 


THEY  MET  IN  AN  UPPER  ROOM. 


197 


Dean,  there  had  been  no  sort  of  a hitch  in  its 
progress.  The  gentleman  from  Porter  seemed 
unaccountably  enraged  by  something  in  a speech 
the  chairman  had  delivered,  and  no  apologies 
would  pacify  him. 

“I’ll  make  you  sorry  for  that,  Mr.  Dean,”  he 
said,  walking  swiftly  up  and  down  the  committee 
room,  and  panting  in  rage. 

The  bill  was  placed  on  its  passage  with  no  more 
opposition  than  would  have  been  met  by  a motion 
to  order  additional  stationery.  A day  was  set  for 
the  debate  to  begin — and  then  came  the  clamor ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


TOO  BASE  FOR  INSULT. 

From  corner  to  corner  the  whole  commonwealth 
blazed  with  the  fury  of  denunciation.  Language 
was  taxed.  Vocabularies  were  exhausted.  Vitup- 
eration was  unleashed.  From  every  county-seat 
came  indignant  demands  to  defeat  that  meas- 
ure. 

“ The  people  do  not  want  it.  Public  opinion  is 
not  ready  for  it.  It  will  turn  peaceful  communi- 
ties into  hoards  of  wranglers.  It  cannot  be 
enforced,  and  a dead-letter  law  breeds  contempt 
for  all  law.” 

That  was  one  view.  Here  was  another: 

“We  have  no  right  to  adopt  it.  We  have  no 
right  to  confiscate  the  millions  of  invested  capital. 
We  have  no  right  to  control  private  conduct.” 
And  here  was  yet  another: 

“Vote  it  down.  Drive  its  defenders  from 
cover.  Whip  them  out  of  their  thin  cloaking  of 
sanctity.  Teach  them  that  the  people  — their 
masters — repudiate  them.  Chase  the  fanatics 
from  the  halls  of  the  House,  and  cram  this  insane 


196 


TOO  BASE  EOB  INSULT. 


199 


enactment  down  the  throats  of  the  men  who 
made  it,” 

Not  only  the  State,  but  the  nation,  was  wild 
with  the  uproar.  From  every  capital,  from  every 
city  came  the  same  loud  cannonade.  Personal 
abuse,  ridicule,  slander — anything  that  could  sink 
the  bill  and  crush  its  friends,  was  quickly  employed. 
And  there  was  no  time  for  the  reformers  to  rally. 
So  long  delayed,  so  sudden  and  so  fierce  had  been 
the  assault,  that  they  stood  stricken  and  helpless 
in  the  face  of  an  opposition  that  seemed  universal. 

Wesley  Grant  hurried  to  the  capital.  His 
friends  must  gather  nearer  the  battlefield  and  lend 
encouragement  to  frightened  legislators.  The 
sentiment  which  was  disclaimed  must  assert  itself, 
or  all  would  be  lost.  The  old  m.an  had  rested  so 
securely  in  the  belief  that  the  bill  would  become 
a law  that  this  furious  assault  startled  him.  He 
summoned  a score  of  men  to  meet  him  at  the 
State  House,  and  then  tried  to  see  and  talk  with 
those  on  whom  he  had  depended.  He  knew  by 
Dean’s  compact  that  all  he  asked  at  organization 
had  been  pledged  him.  Tabor  had  committed  a 
certain  majority  to  the  passage  of  this  measure.  In 
exchange  every  office  had  been  surrendered,  and 
half  the  business  of  the  session  was  already  accom- 
plished. Would  they  dare  attempt  such  treachery 
Was  there  no  spark  of  honor  about  them.? 


200 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


He  sat  in  the  gallery  and  watched  the  proceed- 
ings below  him.  He  marked  this  one  and  that 
one,  who  had  been  sent  up  here  for  just  one  duty 
before  all  others.  He  saw  young  men  who  owed 
him  their  election,  and  he  wondered  if  they  had 
been  corrupted.  He  sent  twice  for  Dean,  but  that 
gentleman  was  busy,  and  could  not  see  him  before 
evening. 

Disappointed  and  chagrined,  he  went  out  and 
walked  the  busy  streets.  He  was  almost  dis- 
tracted, and  this  unusual  movement  and  life 
relieved  him.  He  must  brace  himself  for  the 
worst,  whatever  it  might  be,  and  resolve  never  to 
be  disheartened.  He  went  to  his  room,  and  this 
telegram  was  handed  him: 

Esther  is  gone.  People  here  think  she  is  with  you.  I have 
notified  detectives  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  her.  John  Haberly  is 
in  Fort  Wayne,  and  will  be  in  Indianapolis  to-morrow  night. 

, Ellet  Grant.- 

Old  Wesley  knew  what  it  all  meant  when  he 
had  read  the  three  first  words,  but  the  blow  was 
no  less  crushing.  He  did  not  rave  or  fall,  or  go 
out  for  help.  He  did  not  second  Ellet’s  efforts  to 
find  her.  That  seemed  like  publishing  his  shame. 
He  only  laid  his  weary  head  down  on  the  table, 
and  wept  like  a bereaved  child. 

How  close  to  his  heart  this  girl  had  lain ! How 
he  had  fondled  her — just  yesterday,  it  seemed — 


TOO  BASE  FOR  INSULT. 


201 


when  as  a baby  she  cooed  to  him  and  rolled  her 
shut  hands  in  his  face!  How  he  had  rocked  her 
to  sleep  night  after  night  in  those  days,  when  his 
hands  were  firm  on  the  plow;  and  how  she  had 
loved  her  strong  father  better  than  any  one  else ! 
How  he  had  watched  her  growing  from  slim 
girlhood  to  woman’s  sweet  estate,  mingling  the 
light  of  beauty  with  the  shade  of  duty,  till  heaven 
or  earth  seemed  equally  her  home ; and  how  she 
had  gone  from  him  at  last — 

Poor,  tired,  gray  old  man;  how  much  his  heart 
had  borne ! Yet  it  was  in  his  nature  that  not  even 
this  calamity  could  turn  him  from  the  master  pur- 
pose. No  use  going  home;  she  was  not  there. 
No  use  rushing  abroad  in  search;  she  would  not 
be  found  that  way.  And,  after  all,  this  was  only 
one  more  nail  to  drive  in  the  coffin  of  that  power 
which  made  evil  all  that  was  good.  Surely  God 
would  curse  it  that  it  might  die. 

He  stood  up  at  last,  but  his  head  would  droop 
forward.  He  started  to  walk  about  the  room, 
but  the  springing  step  with  which  he  began  would 
falter  and  grow  slow. 

Dean  did  not  come  up  as  he  had  promised,  and 
Wesley  went  out  to  find  him.  The  bill  had  been 
hurried  forward,  and  to-morrow  they  would  vote. 
He  must  know  more  about  the  present  status. 
From  what  he  had  learned  in  town,  no  changes 


202 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


were  counted  on  yet.  As  he  neared  that  final 
moment  the  old  man’s  nerves  were  strung  with  a 
closer  tension.  He  was  not  composed,  strong, 
confident;  he  was  uncertain,  suspicious,  just  trem- 
bling on  the  verge  of  anger,  and  just  catching  him- 
self forming  a curse  for  this  one  and  that  one  who 
had  deceived  him. 

He  could  not  find  Dean.  Gentlemen  of  whom 
he  inquired  had  seen  the  member  from  Fairview 
“only  a moment  ago,”  but  none  of  them  could  see 
him  just  now. 

He  went  to  the  train,  and  met  Otway  from 
Allen,  and  Singleton  from  Posey.  They  had 
followed  him  through  the  campaign,  fighting  with 
all  manfulness  for  the  legislature,  and  had  rejoiced 
with  him  when  they  saw  victory  perch  on  his 
banner.  They  had  asked  no  favors  and  made  no 
threats,  but  they  had  done  all  their  work  so  well 
that  they  looked  for  the  law  as  they  would  look 
for  day  after  sunrise.  But  they  were  followers 
still,  not  equals;  and  when  they  marked  how 
crushed  this  sturdy  leader  was,  their  spirits  fell, 
and  the  light  of  triumph  faded  into  the  cloud  of 
fear.  They  found  a few  of  the  members  who  had 
sworn  allegiance,  but  could  learn  nothing  authorita- 
tive from  them.  Some  expressed  the  sentiment  that 
they  were  mistaken  in  thinking  the  State  wanted 
prohibition — either  in  this  way,  or  at  this  time. 


TOO  BASE  FOR  INSULT. 


203 


“If  you  had  been  here  all  winter,”  they  said  to 
Otway,  “you  would  see  things  different.  The 
voice  of  the  people  ought  to  rule,  and  we  think 
the  voice  of  the  people  is  loud  against  any  such 
movement.  Still,  we  don’t  know  of  any  change 
in  the  situation.  Dean  and  Peyton  are  managing 
this  thing.” 

The  delegation  wandered  around  here  where 
they  had  expected  to  be  received  with  honor,  and 
grew  weary  in  the  empty  quest  of  busy  statesmen. 

Wesley  told  none  of  them  his  greater  trouble. 
He  must  bear  that  alone.  It  was  lighter  so. 

Next  day  the  galleries  were  crowded.  Many 
women  had  been  admitted.  The  debate  would  be 
very  interesting.  The  floor  was  better  occupied 
than  usual.  Around  the  door  was  a larger  crowd 
of  those  who  had  a word  to  say  with  men  within. 
Somehow,  the  sense  of  great  events  pressed  upon 
actors  and  auditors  alike.  The  chamber  was 
quieter.  Was  it  stern  resolve,  or  cowering 
shame.? 

The  Dean  bill  had  passed  its  third  reading,  and 
was  placed  upon  its  passage. 

“Mr.  Speaker,”  said  Representative  Winter- 
man,  with  an  angry  glance  at  the  Chairman  of 
Committee.  He  had  shouted  the  same  words 
yesterday,  but  so  wild  was  the  confusion  of  busi- 
ness that  he  hardly  heard  himself.  Now  they 


20i 


^JV  INDIANA  MAN. 


rang  across  the  silent  spaces,  and  a thousand  eyes 
glanced  from  him  to  the  chair. 

“The  gentleman  from  Porter,”  said  the  presid- 
ing officer. 

“I  move  as  an  amendment  that  the  enacting 
clause  of  this  bill  be  stricken  out.” 

The  words  fell  like  a knell  on  the  ears  of  those 
men  who  had  earned  success.  There  was  a 
startled  exelamation,  a shifting  of  position,  a rustle 
of  amazement  from  the  galleries.  But  no  one  on 
the  floor  looked  up  there.  All  sat  with  that  stolid 
silence  which  meant  the  fulfillment  of  a programme 
— which  meant  hire  and  service. 

Were  the  friends  of  the  bill  waiting,  as  Warren’s 
men  waited  that  morning  in  June,  till  the  whites 
of  the  enemies’  eyes  were  seen.?*  Were  they  wait- 
ing, crouching,  trembling  for  the  spring  which 
should  stifle  corruption  and  vindicate  a people’s 
expressed  demand.^ 

There  was  little  debate.  The  flow  of  eloquence 
which  was  to  have  gratified  a listening  nation, 
faltered  in  half  a dozen  spiritless  speeches.  The 
champions  were  silent.  Dean,  Peyton,  Fletcher 
were  delivering  the  goods  they  had  sold. 

The  audacity  of  the  assault  on  the  very  enact- 
ing clause  showed  the  strength  of  the  opposition. 
Wesley  Grant  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
groaned.  He  had  hoped  to  sit  here  and  see  this 


TOO  BASE  FOB  INSULT. 


205 


monster  throttled,  and  he  had  raised,  provisioned 
and  equipped  the  army  that  could  and  should  have 
done  it.  He  summed  up  somewhat  of  the  counts 
he  had  against  it,  for  the  speeches  were  not  worth 
the  hearing. 

“ Then  I had  home;  now  I have  none.  Then  I 
had  Ellct,  and  now  he  is  lost.  Then  I had  Esther, 
and  now  she  is  gone.  Then  we  were  rich  and 
honored  and  respectable;  ‘now  I am  the  father  of 
a disgraced,  defaulting  sheriff,  the  father  of  a way- 
ward and  wandering  daughter,  and  the  husband 
of  a woman  who  has  been  struck  by  her  own 
child.  May  God  arrest  this  day  the  flood  which 
is  sweeping  other  homes  into  the  gulf  where  mine 
lies  ruined ! ” 

Why,  how  bound  up  in  this  day’s  action  his 
whole  life  had  become ! As  one  after  another  the 
barks  of  his  loves  slipped  from  him,  he  had  com- 
forted himself  in  the  hope  of  this  event.  And  as 
it  had  marked  an  era  for  him,  so  had  it  been 
regarded  by  ten  thousand  other  men — and  by  a 
host  of  women,  who  are  never  counted.  All  that 
the  men  had  planned  and  hoped  and  worked  and 
voted  for ; all  that  the  women  had  wept  and  prayed 
for,  was  to  have  received  completion  here  and  now. 
Young  men  had  pictured  it  as  one  of  the  heroic 
things  that  might  live  in  story.  Old  men  had 
based  on  a decisive  vote  here  the  certain  prom- 


206 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


ise  of  an  escape  from  thralldom.'  To  them  this 
picture  of  a House  so  passive,  of  a champion  so 
inert,  of  great  truths  so  weakly  spoken,  of  opposi- 
tion so  boldly  arrayed — all  this  to  them  was  indeed 
a mystery,  and  could  have  but  one  solution. 

Wesley  could  not  wait  till  that  dull  speaker  had 
sated  himself  with  killing  time.  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  saw  Dean  sauntering  carelessly  in  from 
the  cloak  room.  He  must  say  one  final  word  to 
him,  even  though  it  be  hopeless.  He  hurried 
down  the  carpeted  stairs,  and  sent  for  the  gentle- 
man from  Fairview. 

“How  are  you.  Grant said  Dean,  rather  too 
nervously  to  be  cordial.  “ I can’t  give  you  a 
minute  just  now.  Ready  to  vote,  you  know.  Oh, 
we’ll  carry  it  by  four  or  five.  Glad  you  came  to 
see  our  triumph — ^your  triumph,  too,  if  it  is  any 
man’s  in  Indiana.” 

Somebody  just  inside  the  swinging  baize  doors 
said  “Dean,”  in  a questioning,  warning  tone,  end- 
ing with  a rising  inflection.  He  turned  quickly, 
bowed  deeply  to  the  countryman,  and  hurried  to 
his  seat. 

Wesley  climbed  the  stairs  again  and  hastened 
to  his  place,  for  there  was  a commotion  below. 

“Vote!  Vote!”  members  were  shouting. 

“Mr.  Speaker!  Mr.  Speaker!”  certain  other 
members  were  shouting.  Pages  were  running 


TOO  BASE  FOR  INSULT. 


207 


about  like  mad.  There  was  an  uncommon  and 
an  energetic  crowd  in  the  lobby.  Hollowell  was 
pounding  the  desk  fiercely  without  in  any  way 
silencing  the  uproar. 

Presently  the  clerk  was  calling  the  roll,  though 
no  one  had  heard  a ruling. 

Old  Wesley  Grant  leaned  forward,  grasping 
the  rail  before  him,  and  trying  to  follow  each 
“Aye”  and  “No,”  and  catch  the  voter  with  his 
eye  to  bless  or  curse  him.  Could  they — could 
they  strike  out  the  enacting  clause  ? At  last  they 
had  ended,  and  he  stood  waiting  with  strained 
senses  for  the  final  announcement.  He  quivered 
with  rage  at  the  stupendous  insolence,  and  held 
his  breath  in  the  silence  that  followed  as  the  vote 
was  proclaimed. 

“Ayes,  77;  noes,  73.  The  motion  prevails.” 

There  was  an  instant  of  confusion  below  him. 
Members  had  left  their  seats  and  were  hurrying 
about.  They  seemed  just  set  at  liberty,  and  the 
failure  or  success  of  legislation  was  of  no  account. 

The  hum  and  clatter  which  announced  a ques- 
tion settled  was  at  its  height  when  a tall,  gray 
man  in  the  gallery  towered  up  before  them,  close 
to  the  rail,  and  dominating  every  chair  in  the  House. 

“ You  are  a set  of  cowards,”  he  shouted.  “You 
perjured,  corrupt,  ungrateful  dogs!  You  rascals, 
villains,  traitors!  You  are  a set  of  cowards!” 


208 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Of  course  he  was  silenced.  An  officer  caught 
him  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and  forced  him  to 
his  seat.  The  noise  below  had  abated.  Mem- 
bers stood  looking  up  at  that  tense  figure,  stood 
listening  to  the  passionate  reproach,  the  fierce 
denunciation,  and  stilled  their  little  clamor  in  the 
outburst  of  a breaking  heart. 

Presently  the  most,  shameless  of  them  rallied. 
They  talked  together  in  a group  for  a moment, 
then  fell  apart  and  stood  glaring  about  them. 

“Mr.  Speaker,”  cried  Tabor,  of  Vigo,  “the 
man  should  be  punished.  He  has  affronted  the 
whole  State  of  Indiana.  He  has  insulted  this 
House.  I de — ” 

“ No, I haven’t,” retorted  Wesley  Grant.  “This 
House  is  past  insult.”  And  he  went  without  a 
struggle  beside  the  officer  to  the  very  door  of  the 
capitol. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THE  WRECK. 

Otway  and  Singleton  joined  him  immediately. 

“What  shall  we  do.^”  they  inquired;  but  he 
turned  from  them  and  walked  alone  down  the 
busiest  street.  They  followed  him,  afraid  for  his 
reason.  The  strain  had  been  too  much.  He  had 
too  certainly  counted  on  success.  Failure  meant 
so  much  to  him.  He  did  not  seem  aware  of  their 
presence,  and  so  they  let  him  wander  on,  only 
keeping  him  well  in  sight,  and  guarding  him  from 
all  harm. 

For  hours  the  old  man  paced  steadily  forward, 
keeping  at  first  in  busy  streets,  and  looking  straight 
before  him.  Finally  his  footsteps  turned  toward 
the  quieter  portion  of  the  town.  Twilight  was 
rapidly  sinking  into  darkness.  Far  down  the 
street  a man  was  coming  toward  them  lighting 
the  lamps.  Half  a block  away  he  thrust  his  torch 
into  a globe  and  waked  the  bright  flame  just  as 
two  young  women  passed  him  and  stopped  at  the 
entrance  of  a house.  One  of  them  was  very 
handsomely  dressed.  The  other  followed  her  in. 


209 


210 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


Wesley  Grant  had  been  watching  the  lamp- 
lighter until  this  point,  but  he  dropped  him  now, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  cold  front  of  that  brown 
stone  building.  At  the  end  of  the  square  he 
crossed  over,  and  came  back  on  the  other  side, 
his  friends  following  him  silently.  He  had  passed 
the  house  without  a motion  further  than  that  still 
gaze  against  the  solid  door.  But  right  in  the 
shadow  of  the  lamp  he  stopped.  There  was  a 
sound  of  quarreling  within.  Women’s  voices 
were  lifted  in.  contention.  Feet  were  beating  a 
tattoo  on  carpeted  stairs.  A chain  was  rattled.. 
The  door  was  opened,  and  the  well-dressed  girl’s 
companion  sprang  from  the  threshold,  and  stood 
without  hat  or  cloak  on  the  pavement.  There 
were  voices  within  in  angry  tumult — women,  all 
talking  together.  The  frightened  girl  turned 
toward  the  three  men,  and  then  old  Wesley  held 
out  his  hands  to  her,  and  said,  “ Come  on,  Esther; 
we’ll  go  home.” 

It  was  void  of  passion  or  reproach,  and  was 
pitched  in  the  kindly  key  of  father  love.  In  the 
tone  and  in  the  gesture  there  was  the  resurrection 
of  a thousand  days  when  she  had  brought  her 
troubles  to  him,  and  lost  them  in  the  boundless 
depths  of  his  great  heart.  But  now  she  recoiled 
from  him,  shrieking  in  fear,  and  fled  away  in  the 
darkness  and  the  cold. 


THE  WRECK. 


211 


He  turned  and  resumed  his  walk,  not  once 
noticing  the  men  who  followed  him,  and  came  at 
last  to  the  hotel.  He  seemed  to  have  recovered 
at  least  a portion  of  his  courage,  for  he  went  about 
the  work  of  quitting  town  with  all  the  orderliness 
of  a practiced  traveler,  and  took  the  train  for 
home.  But  he  would  not  talk  with  them.  He 
was  not  interested  in  what  they  said.  When  they 
mentioned  the  great  disgrace  of  the  day  he  only 
turned  from  them,  and  seemed  occupied  with  the 
movements  of  truckmen  and  those  who  handled 
baggage.  When  they  parted  from  him  he  shook 
their  hands  without  meeting  their  eyes,  made  no 
response  to  their  kindly  wishes,  and  left  them 
before  they  had  done  speaking. 

From  the  window  of  the  sheriff’s  office  Ellet 
Grant  saw  his  father  come  up  town  from  the 
train  next  morning,  and  sent  a deputy  to  get  the 
team  and  drive  him  out  to  the  farm.  He  followed 
from  a distance,  and  saw  his  father  riding  away, 
then  returned  to  his  work,  and  did  not  wonder 
that  the  broad  slouch  hat  covered  a face  white 
with  the  ashes  of  defeat  and  disgrace. 

As  he  wrote  there,  a boy  brought  him  a tele- 
gram. He  looked  at  the  clock  and  put  on  his 
coat. 

“ I am  going  to  Indianapolis,”  he  said  to  the 
chief  deputy,  “ I may  be  back  to-morrow.” 


212 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


A policeman  had  stopped  the  young  woman  as 
she  had  fled  from  that  chance  meeting  with  her 
father,  and  had  taken  her  to  the  station  till  some- 
thing could  be  learned  about  her,  and  till  she  could 
be  provided  with  wraps  against  the  chill  of  wintry 
weather.  There  they  knew  she  was  the  person 
they  had  been  directed  to  find,  and  they  telegraphed 
to  Ellet,  while  giving  her  all  the  care  and  comfort 
the  shabby  place  afforded.  They  thought  she 
was  willing  to  wait  until  her  brother  came,  but 
shortly  after  dark  next  evening  she  slipped  from 
the  room  in  which  they  had  been  lodging  her,  and 
was  gone  again. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  train  in  the  great  depot 
an  hour  after,  Ellet  saw  her  face  in  the  window  of  ; 
a car  just  leaving  the  station.  He  had  barely 
time  to  clamber  up  the  steps  as  the  crowded  cara- 
van swept  through  the  doorway,  and  out  into  the 
silent,  snow-heaped  city. 

This  was  Ellet ’s  hardest  journey,  and  he  thought  | 
how  bitter  the  cross  must  be  to  her  who  sat  there  4 

c, 

just  before  him,  uncomforted,  and  crushing  the  ^ 
thorns  of  woman’s  crucifixion  deep  in  her  tortured 
soul.  He  longed  to  go  to  her  and  take  all  the  ' 
burden  of.  her  own  wrong.  He  longed  to  tell  her 
how  deeper  than  ever  she  could  go  he  had  trodden 
the  way  of  error,  and  he  resolved  he  would  find 
some  way  to  knit  again  the  cord  that  once  had  v 


THE  WRECK. 


213 


bound  them,  and  rest  her  secure  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  a brother’s  love. 

He  had  let  an  hour  pass,  and  was  turning  from 
the  flying  silhouettes  outside  to  the  drowsing  pas- 
sengers within,  half  rising  to  go  to  her  now,  when 
a jolt  and  bounding  motion  of  the  car  threw  him 
from  his  seat,  and  called  attention  to  the  scream- 
ing whistle  of  the  engine.  Then  came  the  roar 
which  told  of  the  covered  bridge,  and  then  the 
louder  sound  of  rending  timbers  as  they  fell  away 
and  pitched  the  train  with  its  trusting  load  into 
the  rocky  gorge  beneath. 

Some  were  sleeping,  and  roused  from  dreams 
to  be  choked  with  smoke  and  scalded  with  steam 
and  frozen  with  icy  water.  Some  were  awake, 
and  these  were  even  less  fortunate,  for  they  had 
seen  the  danger  sooner,  and  were  struggling  to 
escape.  Ellet  was  dimly  conscious  of  this  as  he 
gathered  himself  together  at  the  side  of  the  car, 
and  looked  for  that  bolt  upright  figure  which  he 
had  been  watching  all  the  long  ride  from  the  city. 
There  was  fire  between  them,  and  he  could  hear 
her  familiar  voice,  troubled  with  the  labor  of 
escaping  from  burdens  which  pinned  her  down 
and  hurt  her  cruelly.  He  was  half  way  to  her, 
creeping  over  the  writhing  mass  that  struggled 
in  the  dark  and  shrieked  its  terror,  when  he  found 
that  only  one  hand  was  doing  duty.  The  other 


214 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


was  crushed,  and  he  could  feel  the  warm  blood 
that  filled  his  sleeve,  while  the  rest  of  his  body. was 
drenched  with  the  cold  water  that  poured  in  from 
the  windows,  now  deep  in  the  river. 

Esther’s  complaints  grew  louder  as  he  neared 
her.  She  was  losing  that  rare  self  control  which 
had  always  armed  her.  Her  presence  of  mind 
was  going,  and  she  had  left  intelligent  effort  to 
struggle  wildly  for  release.  Just  as  the  clamor 
around  her  had  drowned  the  last  of  reason,  Esther 
heard  her  brother  call  her,  and  was  silent  in  an 
instant.  He  struggled  on,  close  to  the  wall,  past 
those  who  were  escaping  or  praying  for  even 
death’s  deliverance,  nearer  to  the  flame  in  which 
he  feared  her  voice  was  hushed  forever,  till  he 
reached  the  place  where  she  had  been  before  the 
accident. 

Groping  there  thus,  in  the  chaos  that  was  now 
lighted  by  the  burning  car,  he  found  her,  and 
pressed  his  face  close  down  to  hers,  and  in  the 
wreck  that  ended  life  for  some,  these  lives  were 
reconciled. 

She  showed  him  where  the  timber,  which  had 
pierced  the  car,  was  pressed  against  her,  crushing 
her  shoulders  and  denying  release,  and  he  forced 
his  body  closer,  wedging  in  between  it  and  the 
wall,  and  crowding  it  away  till  she  could  escape. 
Then  the  sickening  consciousness  came  that  he 


THE  WRECK. 


215 


himself  was  not  able  to  escape.  With  her  release 
the  timber  pressed  heavier  upon  him,  and  he  could 
only  wait  until  the  fire,  that  ate  so  rapidly,  should 
weaken  his  prison,  and  give  him  freedom.  But 
long  before  that  came  he  had  sunk  helpless  and 
senseless  upon  the  disordered  chairs,  and  it  was 
Esther’s  strong  arms  that  found  him  and  lifted  him 
to  safety. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


QUITE  THROUGH  THE  VALLEY. 

One  of  the  deputies  mounted  a horse  and  rode 
to  the  Pretty  Lake  farm  bearing  the  news  of  the 
wreck,  and  carrying  also  this  message: 

We  were  in  the  train  that  went  down  with  the  bridge.  Ellet 
saved  my  life  and  is  with  me  now.  He  is  badly  hurt. 

Esther. 

By  10  o’clock  Wesley  was  in  town.  Papers 
were  brimming  with  accounts  of  the  catastrophe. 
His  son’s  name  was  among  the  fatally  injured,  and 
his  daughter  was  mentioned  as  one  whose  miracu- 
lous escape  was  notable,  even  in  an  event  so  thick 
with  marvels.  He  went  to  the  telegraph  office 
and  sent  this  message  to  the  sheriff: 

You  have  atoned  that  blow,  Ellet.  Come  home. 

Father. 

Then  he  paced  the  narrow  platform,  or  tried  to 
wait  in  Major  Poole’s  office  till  the  train  could 
bring  these  two  who  seemed  coming  back  to  him 
from  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth.  What  did 
it  all  matter,  any  way.?  They  were  his,  and  he 
was  theirs.  Life  was  so  short.  He  could  not 
afford  to  cherish  even'the  memories  of  the  months 


216 


QUITE  THROUGH  THE  VALLEY.  217 

that  had  passed.  The  harvest  of  his  manhood 
was  wasted  in  woe,  but  he  seemed  anxious  to  for- 
get all  but  the  years  when  Fate  was  kinder  to 
him.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  to  the 
lawyer  that  it  wanted  but  half  an  hour  of  train 
time.  . Then  he  went  out  again,  and  started  to  the 
depot;  but  when  nearly  there  he  stumbled,  stag- 
gered weakly  for  a moment,  then,  clutching  his 
breast  with  both  hands,  fell  senseless  upon  the 
pavement. 

It  was  noticed  he  lay  directly  in  front  of  Sau- 
tern’s  place  of  business. 

Friends  gathered  in  a moment  and  lifted  him, 
trying  to  call  back  the  tides  of  life  that  had  already 
ebbed  far  beyond  the  power  of  man  to  summon 
them  again.  He  made  no  sign,  said  no  word,  and 
passed  in  an  instant  from  the  hymn  of  chastened 
forgiveness  to  the  everlasting  chorus  of  the  saints. 

The  other  day  I passed  through  Fairview.  I 
was  looking  through  the  window  at  the  pleasant 
streets  and  white  houses  of  the  town  when  Uncle 
Dave  Edwards  came  in  and  took  a seat  near  me. 
He  remembered  me  after  a time,  and  as  the  train 
rolled  away,  he  told  me  about  those  I had  known 
in  the  town. 

“Yes,  Poole  got  too  big  for  Fairview,  and  went 
up  to  Richmond  two  or  three  years  ago.  I aint 


218 


AN  INDIANA  MAN. 


heard  from  him,  but  I guess  he  is  gittin’  along. 
He’s  a mighty  smart  man  sence  he  let  whisky 
alone.  Folks  did  say  him  and  Alice  was  going  to 
git  married,  but  I don’t  know.  He’s  a heap  older 
than  what  she  is.  No,  Ellet  wouldn’t  have  a sec- 
ond term  of  sheriff.  They  wanted  him  to,  but  he 
wouldn’t.  I used  to  be  on  his  bond,  and  I got 
afraid  of  him  onct,  but  he  straightened  everything 
up  like  a man.  Esther?  Oh,  she  lives  on  the 
farm  and  keeps  house  for  Ellet.  They  aint  got  as 
much  land  as  they  used  to  have,  but  they  are 
gittin’  along.  That  four  year  in  town  was  a hard 
thing  for  them,  one  way  and  another.  John 
Haberly’s  out  for  Secretary  of  State  this  year,  and 
I wouldn’t  wonder  if  he  got  the  nomination.  He’s 
follered  up  saloons  and  politics  too,  and  made  ’em 
pay.  That’s  a purty  hard  thing  to  do.  Either 
you’ve  got  to  break  yourself,  or  break  a lot  of 
other  people.  Oh,  yes,  they’re  all  gittin’  along; 
but  it  aint  the  same  as  what  it  was.  You  can’t 
never  make  anything  in  this  world  like  it  was. 
Old  Mrs.  Grant?  Wesley’s  wife?  Why,  she’s 
dead.  She  died  right  after  Wesley  did.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  hardest  part  of  Ellet ’s  trouble; 
though  why,  I never  knowed.  Well,  I must  get 
out  here.  I want  to  look  at  some  timber.  Good- 
bye.” 


THE  END. 


